I have a confession: I’ve always been slightly terrified of becoming ‘steak woman’.
I’ll explain.
When I was a child there was a local tale of a woman who’d been around her small children so much she never really got any adult conversation. So when a formal dinner presented itself, she leapt at the opportunity and glammed up for the night. It was all going swimmingly. She was getting on fabulously with the chap sitting next to her and she couldn’t have been happier.
And then. Suddenly he looked like he was going to be sick. What was wrong? She’d leaned over and chopped up his steak.
It. Just. Doesn’t. Bear. Thinking. About.