When I was in college, I had two friends I goofed around with -- Joe and Milo. (Milo wasn't his real name. I just called him that because he looked like the illustration of Milo in "The Phantom Tollbooth".) Both were from the suburbs of Chicago and they were smart and funny. Joe was the next to youngest in an Italian-American family with 9 kids. Milo was the third in an Irish-American family of 4. They had a lot in common, including a love for the Cubs and an obsession with The Who.
We were in the dining hall one night in the first week of school. Everyone was eating spaghetti. We were all chatting and suddenly, Joe laid down his fork and spoon and said, "What in the hell are you doing?" Milo looked around and said, "Are you talking to me?" "Yeah. What are you doing?"
Milo looked down at his plate. "I'm cutting my spaghetti."
Joe looked as though he would have a stroke. "Why would you do that? Don't you know that cutting the noodles changes their molecular structure? You are messing up your food on an atomic level!"
Milo looked unconcerned. "Yeah. But it's easier to eat if I cut it up."
Joe shook his head. "You can never come for dinner at my folks' house. My mom and dad would kill you."
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