Don't touch my napkin. I do not want the server to pick up the napkin and put it on my lap. I know it belongs there; maybe I don't choose to put it there.
Sentiment: NEGATIVE
Sometimes, when full and in fear that I will continue to eat unwanted food just because it's staring at me, I will place my napkin over the remaining portion. This is what I frequently refer to as a 'food funeral.'
She's been on more laps than a napkin.
Nothing is more pleasant than to see a pretty woman, her napkin well placed under her arms, one of her hands on the table, while the other carries to her mouth, the choice piece so elegantly carved.
I still, at hotel rooms, I do this one sort of not-so-cool thing: continually shoving my room service tray in front of someone else's door. Because I don't want the remnants. I don't want to be caught, like, being like the pig that I was at two in the morning.
If you're not at the table, you're on the menu.
I do not like people touching my underwear. That's just weird! I travel with a washer and dryer, and I like cooking on the bus, too.
The wisest advice I ever received regarding the kitchen came from my mother: 'Do the dishes while you're cooking.'
I learned that you don't take dishes from the table to the dishwasher; you have to rinse them first. I think that's stupid because I don't go out in the back yard and hose off before taking a shower.
Luxury lives in the finer details. It's a cloth napkin at a dinner table. It's a mint on your pillow before bed.
I'll sweep the floors. I've picked up napkins in the men's room. I'm not above anything.