Saving the best for the last...

Yesterday, as I sat with a friend at a warm Pizza Hut, the only tell-tale things that bore testimony to the quick meal we had just wolfed through, were dregs of mushroom soup in two bowls, and an odd olive from the salad.

Oh yes, and a full cheese tortilla slice.

Both of us eyed it, asking the other if she felt like it. Both answered in the negative.

Eventually, I broke it into two, proffering one part to her.

End of story?

Not quite.

How many times have we sat across a table with friends, measuring how that last scrumptious piece of pie will melt in your mouth, but for general courtesy’s sake, refrained from reaching out for it?

On more occasion than one, for me at least.

As the last finger-smacking kebab piece cries loudly to be picked and placed on your plate, you look around, hoping someone would offer the same for you.

You are in luck.

Someone suggests just that, and after feigning the correct amount of reluctance (read: I’m-so-full-I-couldn’t-possibly-eat-another-morsel routine), you shake your head, daintily using the fork to deposit the nibble onto your filled-with-onions-and-mint-dip plate.

You pause – and then place the savoury appetizer on the tip of your tantalised tongue.

Pure bliss.

Reaching out for that last delectable McDonald's French fry is not about gluttony.
For me, it’s sometimes saving-the-best-for-the-last mindset that makes me wanna reach out, but on almost all occasions, I desist from doing so.

What transpires in the heads of people when they want to help themselves to the last serving, but don’t?

Is it embarrassment? Awkwardness? A nagging fear of ridicule? Fear of being branded a human version of the Hungry Hippo?

What’s your take?

Drop me a line...