Cultural cross-pollination

This evening, when you were having dinner before work, we got to talking about the continental way of holding one’s utensils. You asked me a bit back if I’d be willing to reform my feral American tendencies and learn to eat like a civilized person, to which I, of course, agreed, through a series of animalistic grunts and gestures which you were, I hope, able to interpret as intended.

During your drive to work, I filled you in on the history of the fork, it’s arrival in Europe in the 11th century, and how the continental manner of holding it with the knife came about and was used by the French not once, but twice, to humiliate the rest of the world, in the proper French fashion. You laughed as I told you all about it, which made me endlessly happy. There isn’t much I wouldn’t do to hear that full, lost in the moment laugh. It’s one of my favorite things in the whole world. I think that, as long as I can make you laugh, we’ll be alright, whatever comes our way.

This led to a lengthy discussion about some of the cultural differences we each carry into our relationship, and how truly wonderful it is to be able to do that, to teach one another about the cultures in which we were both raised. We agreed today that one of the most fun things about us is that we both share a love of variety, and being from two similar, but in many ways vastly distinct, cultures always adds a little spice to things. I love it, and I love you, my sweet, beautiful, amazing girl.