An episode of the animated version of the Garfield comic strip features the obese, anthropomorphic feline explaining his worldview in regards to nutrition and culinary criticism.
The cartoon cat employs what he tags as "The Chair Test." His explanation is simple: You place a sample of the food in question on the seat of a chair and then ask someone to sit on it.
Garfield hypothesizes that a food’s value can be ascertained by this simple procedure. No reaction from the test subject? The food isn’t worth consuming.
To demonstrate, he called upon his romantic-interest animated girl cat, placed a leaf of lettuce on a dining set stool and instructed her to sit down. She sat there awhile. Then shrugged. Nothing.
"As you can see, based upon the lack of reaction, you can tell that lettuce is not worth eating,” Garfield expertly explained.
Garfield replaced the lettuce with a thickly frosted slice of cake and once again ordered her to sit. Of course, cake and frosting squished under her. Her face was distorted in disgust and anger.
"See? As you can tell from her reaction, the chocolate cake is a food worth eating."
•••
I told this cartoon fable one day at the home of a stern, judgmental pastor whose daughter I had a crush on.
To improve my standing in the pastor’s family that afternoon, I had volunteered to provide free manual labor on the building addition to the party house on his acreage. The idea was to serve the Lord and increase the pastor’s property value, and in the process eliminate the need to hire a licensed and bonded general contractor.
In return, I received treasures in heaven as well as a few slices of pizza. For dessert, the pastor’s wife served a delicious, but gooey, brownie. The sticky caramel clung to my fork and dripped onto my fingers, threatening my wrists.
While I silently struggled to stay dainty, I recalled Garfield's “worthwhile food Chair Test” so I shared the story with the guests, who probably were feeling the caramel oozing toward their own fingertips.
I sensed a shared agreement among them that the caramel goodie had passed Garfield’s test with flying colors and sticky hands.
The pastor looked over his own plate of brownie and glared at me as if I had challenged his frivolous interpretation of Old Testament genealogies.
He paused in mid-fork. The tense young volunteer guests ceased eating as well, waiting an awkward moment for a cue from the pastor on how they should react.
Then, the mouthpiece of God collected his thoughts and, channeling the voice of the Holy Spirit, finally spoke, rather hollowly:
"Well … Thanks for that, Chris."
It felt to me as though the pastor and Garfield may have had a difference of opinion about the best way to evaluate his wife’s baking skills. I made a note of this.
I also gathered that I probably had to woo his daughter without the aid of my vast array of fart jokes.
It’s too bad. I had some good ones.
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