Your Awful Eating Habits Are Giving Away Your Sex Game


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Your Awful Eating Habits Are Giving Away Your Sex Game

Have you ever watched a member of the opposite sex meticulously rinse an apple and fantasised about what those hands would feel like on your body? Probably not.

As we all canter uncontrollably towards another February 14 of melted station chocolate and candlelit Groupon tapas, now seems like as good a time as any to make completely spurious claims about your sex life.

With that in mind, here are some of the worst eaters you could ever find yourself sitting through a V Day dinner with. Don't say we didn't warn you.


Nibblers are by far the most dead-eyed of eaters, more interested in the joyless mechanics of eating than the food itself. They have a special skill of making things that were supposed to be delicious look like bin scrapings in 30 seconds.


They'll pick the filling out of any good experience. The worst part is that they'll pretend to be into it, seducing you into ordering a really slutty pizza, then stripping it naked leaving tiny, cold mountains of abandoned toppings on the cardboard.

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Give them a finger of your Kit Kat and they'll destroy it, nibbling away until it's just an exposed wafer on the verge of breaking. These are the people at your party who ate half a Dorito and put it back in the bowl, the ones who won't order their own chips because they'd rather eat yours. They'll gnaw the dry, hardened end of your freshly baked baguette and won't even call you in the morning.


These guys find the idea of experiencing new flavours fundamentally overwhelming. Even tackling a meal as experimental as a Sunday roast not made by their mother sends them into an emotional tailspin that takes an agonising 45 minutes to finish, and will do so on a stone-cold potato finale.

If they had their way, the ingredients of any dish would be predictable, unchallenging, missionary. They love things in stackable sections with peely lids and novelty packaging. Safe slivers of spherical mystery luncheon meats that dissolve on the tongue, fromage frais, tube spread, pallid petrol station pastries with liquid chicken centres. Everything funky you do together will be under fabric-softened covers with the lights banged firmly off.

SaladTossers _FN

Even without a biology degree it's hard to see how in germs terms, running a punnet of grapes under a tap works as a decontamination exercise, but that doesn't stop some people doing it.

Have you ever watched a member of the opposite sex meticulously rinsing an apple and fantasised about what those hands would feel like on your body? Probably not. That's because this kind—with their cling film and their tiny Tupperware and their corn-on-the-cob skewers—aren't rolling up their sleeves for anything.

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They'd rather have your lettuce wet and limp than risk a bit of grit in their teeth. They don't want your backwash, your mess, your double-dipping, finger-licking love. They want to climax and jump immediately in the shower, thankyouverymuch.


Under all of our crisp buttoned shirts and neatly pressed trousers lurks a whole bunch of organic imperfections we're secretly hoping no one will be repulsed by.

In fact, everyone single one of us is hiding a couple of slightly battered peaches and a courgette that's seen better days. Are these things still wonderful and delicious in a tart? Yes. Is really it necessary to launch them into the bin while screaming with your eyes closed? No. It's hard to feel totally comfortable in the company of someone who would pull apart the lips of baguette and interrogate the origins of the ham inside it.

If you've ever wondered if wondered whether someone's in it for the long haul, hand them a pot of sleeveless hummus from the back of the fridge. Do they recoil and throw it immediately in the bin, or stick their finger in for the fizz test? If it's the former, get out of there.

We've all got a sell-by date, pal. If you think that's bullshit, let's catch up in ten years when you've had your fuzzy arse is dumped for some freshly baked crumpet.

All illustrations by Emma O'Neill.

This article originally appeared on MUNCHIES in February 2016.