It's not that I have a problem sharing my meals with you—I honestly find the idea very appealing. The problem that I have is your very unappealing tendency to combine not washing your hands and eating with your fingers. Like the time we went out for breakfast at Paradox Café. You know how I love eating at Paradox, but it completely killed by appetite to watch you pick through my vegan benedict with your fingers after spending the morning playing with your dog—that same dog that goes swimming in the Sandy River every day and hasn't had a bath in like six months. Or the time at Le Happy. After commenting to me how dirty your fingers were from gardening all day, you felt the need to scoop up our crêpe with those dirty fingers (even as the silverware lay in front of you, untouched). And don't even get me started on what it's like to go out with you for Ethiopian food. The bottom line, doll, is that I love you and cherish you and all of that stuff, but fighting off a staph infection because of your lack of hygiene seems so... unromantic. You're 28 years old: WASH YOUR FUCKING HANDS BEFORE EATING!—Anonymous