“What the hell are you doing?” A phrase I desperately want to utter whenever someone is chewing loudly just to spite me (I’m sure).
On the drive to the Cancun airport after our deadly honeymoon, a man was chewing his gum so provocatively I felt like he was sharing the whole inappropriate experience with me. And he wasn’t even European.
You know what I mean though, right? It is less offensive (or surprising) when an Italian man wears a banana hammock to the beach than if some redneck American struts his stuff in the same attire; although . . .Jack is half Italian and I do not fancy this type of behaviour coming from him.
It’s a matter of cultural norms and if a European man (not a Brit because they are sickeningly polite) were to thoroughly enjoy his gum by smacking his lips – I would be like:
“Okay, this guy’s got an excuse. This is socially acceptable where he’s from.”
But if a Norte Americano sits behind me in a Mexican van and pulls that shit, I’m going to fantasize screaming my lungs out at him because he’s a rude mother-you-know-what and no, I do not appreciate him “gleeking” on the back of my seat – even though only a “little” got in my hair.
Jack chews nicotine gum and he says it makes his throat tickle. He coughs, and coughs, and then makes a sucking/smacking noise with his lips, and finally ends the abuse to my ears and test to my patience with another forceful cough for good measure. If this only happened once or twice in our lifetime it wouldn’t be worth mentioning, but I spend an ungodly amount of time with my husband. So don’t be surprised if over the next few months you hear I have been confined to either a white padded room or a steel cage; witnessed continuously shouting:
“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?”