Cutting the Cheese at
the Lincoln Country Club
Now I beseech you,
brethren,
by the name of our
Lord Jesus Christ,
that ye all speak the
same thing,
and that there be no
divisions among you;
but that ye be
perfectly joined together
in the same mind and
in the same judgment.
1 Corinthians 1:10
I guess we should've seen it coming. Our family is
notoriously hard on "suitors" of the young women among our ranks. To make sure
they will fit in, we want to find out if they're crazy enou . . . I mean . . .
whether they have sufficient poise, confidence and a sense of humor to survive
among us.
It's a long-standing tradition. You see, my husband once
stood in our entryway, nonchalantly cleaning his shotgun, when one of our fair
maidens and her trembling, teeth-chattering date departed for Prom.
An uncle and two scheming nephews once shattered the nerves
of their teenage daughter/sister's new boyfriend, when he arrived to take her
out on a date. They asked him a whole bunch of questions, and then told him,
"We're going upstairs to write down your SCORE!!!"
But in the category of Boyfriend Testing, nothing will go
down in family lore so much as last weekend's incident at the Lincoln Country
Club.
Eden gets a buss from
her boyfriend, Zack.
You see, our third daughter, Eden Elizabeth, was receiving
her bachelor's degree from the University of Nebraska-Lincoln. Her sister Jordan
had flown in from Chicago for the occasion. Her boyfriend Zack came up from
Kansas City. Her grandmother and aunt and uncle were going to join us for lunch
afterwards.
Thousands of extra people would be in Lincoln over lunchtime
that day. Where could we find a table for 10? I had procrastinated on making reservations,
and was beginning to panic . . . when I remembered that the country club we
belong to in Omaha has a reciprocal agreement with one of the oldest and finest
ones in the Midwest, the Lincoln Country Club.
It was swank! It was near the university! It would be a
perfect setting to honor Eden.
We got there, and the table for 10 was perfectly appointed,
with a view of the gorgeous spring day. Eden was lovely in her yellow dress
with a dozen yellow roses presented by her baby sister. We ordered off the
elegant menus, and chatted. It was going swell.
And then they started serving our food. Salads, pasta
entrees, and last, but not least, here came Zack's French onion soup.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him pick up something
blue from the side of the plate. A small pair of plastic scissors!?!?! He tried
them out a few times, and both of us were puzzled as to what they were for.
Across the table came a chortle.
"Well, Zack, are you ready to CUT THE CHEESE?!?!?!"
All of our heads snapped to attention at the apparently rude
comment from our petite, demure and usually perfectly-mannered
sister-in-law/aunt.
Then we all saw the scissors and realized that they were for
cutting any long strands of cheese that extended from the French onion soup
bowl.
Scissors? For cutting cheese?
So much for country club manners There was no holding back
the torrent of wisecracks:
"Wow! When you cut the cheese HERE, you cut the cheese in
STYLE!"
"I'm going to spread it all over town that Eden's boyfriend
cut the cheese right in the middle of the Lincoln Country Club!"
""Yeah! Flagrantly!"
"Without apology!"
"Several times!!!"
Our whole table was in hysterics, in an uproar, there in the
posh, sedate Lincoln Country Club dining room.
Too late, I realized that we could be embarrassing Zack past
the point of no return. Did he understand that we were laughing at the
situation, and not at him? Was our humor too coarse? Would he break up with
Eden then and there because of her insane family and their . . . well . . . cheesy
jokes?!?
Everyone else, seeing me suddenly look solemn, fell silent.
Uh ohhhh. Had we gone too far?
That's when Zack grabbed the blue plastic scissors, held
them up, and said, "Look! They're monogrammed! They say 'Lincoln Country Club'!
I'm going to get my own pair made up, for when I cut the cheese at home!!!"
And with a happy grin and great savoir faire, he picked up
his soup spoon high in the air with a long strand of cheese dangling from it .
. . and cut the cheese with a flourish.
Everyone roared.
My daughter and I exchanged a glance.
Not to belabor the pun, but . . . in that moment, he
"passed."
