I Eat Like a Three-Year-Old, Redux

I often eat macaroni and cheese when I'm dining alone. It's never the good stuff, with the creamy cheese in those little silver packets, oh no. It's got to be Kraft, with the powdered cheese, in the blue box. And only the original, not those newfangled spirals and dinosaurs and crazy Spongebob shapes. No, I'm not down with the modern mac'n'cheese, it's the O.G. gangsta mac for me or nothing at all.

Once I've made the macaroni and cheese, I sprinkle a healthy dash of Lawry's Seasoned Salt on it. Don't ask me why, that's just how it's done at my house. Always has been. Then I eat it, normally, for the most part, but several times during each meal, I have to enact a special ritual that I have performed every time I've eaten mac'n'cheese since I was a little girl. I have to slide four macaronis onto the fork, one on each tine. And no fair using your hands for this--you've got to catch a macaroni on the end of the tine, then use the side of the bowl to push it on. And all the way, with no macaroni dangling off the end of the fork. Some of the macaronis are too curved and will split, so the ideal is a shortish, fairly straight macaroni. Once you get all four mounted on the fork at once, you put the fork in your mouth and use your teeth to pull off all four at once, and eat them.

How much of a freak am I? Do you think the fork-mounting macaroni are some kind of weird, subconscious, prepubescent sex thing?