**Diary Entry – A Cultural Shock at Dinner**
I come from a modest, large family, but even we never had anything like this! At home, we each have our own plates, take turns washing up, and recently, my parents finally got a dishwasher. So when I visited my boyfriend’s family for the first time, I was completely stunned.
James—let’s call him that—invited me to meet his parents in their cosy house with a garden in a small town. I was excited—we’d been dating for months, and it felt serious. His mum, let’s say Margaret, was welcoming, offering tea and homemade cake, while his dad, Robert, shared funny stories from his youth. First impressions were lovely.
Then came dinner, and things took a bizarre turn. On the table sat one large pot of mashed potatoes, a bowl of salad, and a single deep plate. I assumed it was for serving, but no. Margaret dished up her food, ate from it, then passed it to Robert. He did the same. Then it went to James—and finally, to me. Stunned doesn’t cover it. Where I’m from, we *never* share plates like that.
I tried to hide my shock, but James whispered, “It’s just how we do things here.” How? Margaret noticed my discomfort and said cheerfully, “Saves on washing up—efficient, isn’t it?” I forced a smile, but all I could think was: *This isn’t normal.*
Later, I learned they barely washed dishes properly—just a quick rinse before stacking them. I offered to help clean, but Margaret insisted, “Guests don’t do chores.” Charming, but I’d have scrubbed everything twice just to feel at ease.
The next morning, things got stranger. Robert cracked eggs into a pan—then tossed the shells into a pile of rubbish in the corner. “We’ll clear it later,” he said. Later never came. Peelings, milk cartons, even used tissues piled up. Margaret explained they cleaned the kitchen once a week to “save time.” At home, we take the bins out *daily.*
James shrugged it off—“We’re just used to it”—but I couldn’t comprehend it. Judging felt unfair, yet my mind screamed, *How is this okay?*
Leaving a few days later, I nearly hugged my dishwasher. Back home, eating from my own plate felt like a luxury. James and I are still together, but I’ve made it plain: separate dishes, daily bins, and a dishwasher are non-negotiable. Oddly, he agrees. This whole ordeal taught me how vastly different “normal” can be—and that some traditions aren ’ t for me.
