I'll have those...

My friend, Betty, has recently moved into a retirement complex. The residents are a mix of independent seniors and those who require assisted living. Betty takes her meals in the dining room every day, and has had a bit of a difficult time trying to scope out who would be good dinner companions. So she's eaten most of her meals alone.
Last evening, she called me laughing so hard she was wheezing. "Lovie," she gasped, "What do you know! I've made a new friend!"
I was immediately intrigued, since Betty confessed a few weeks before that she has a difficult time initiating friendships due to her reserved nature.
The laughing continued, and between chuckles, Betty told me that there had been country line dancers to watch during dinner. So she took a seat in the dining room right next to the dancing. She ordered a sandwich with two dill pickles, and started in on the sandwich as soon as her meal came to the table.
A trim, well-dressed female resident approached Betty and asked her if she would mind having company at her table since the view was so good from there. Betty was thrilled. She put down her knife and fork and immediately pulled out a chair for her. The woman sat down, looked at Betty's plate, and without reticence, reached for the pickles on her plate.
"I'll have those" she said in a matter-of-fact way. And she commenced to watch the dancers, munching away on Betty's dill pickles, while Betty's mouth hung open in shock.
"Lovie," she said in a shocked whisper, "She's lost her marbles!" After a long howl of a laugh, she added, "I've never had such a thing happen before!"

With a pang, an awful recollection came to my mind:
I was in Dublin on a speaking trip. My host and I were on the road between two cities. He suggested that we stop for some tea and sandwiches to refresh ourselves. We did stop then, at a little roadhouse, filled with politely talking people. The waitress brought us our tea and a plate of diagonally-cut bread with some sort of spread on it. She put the plate directly between Michael and me. I fell to in a sort of intrigued silence, not knowing what the rather bland spread was on the bread. As I reached for the second quarter of the top sandwich, I caught a glance of Michael's face. It was a mixture of chagrin and disapproval. I drew back my hand.
"Maybe I'll not have another."
"Oh no, be sure you've had what you'd like before I finish them."
I turned "as red as a beet root," he later told me, for suddenly I realized I'd been eating off his plate. Just then, the waitress brought me my own plate of this pallid unpleasantness, and I truly wanted to vanish through the floor at that moment.
We all do awful things at times, for many different reasons. It is all part of the human condition, I think. The key is to move ahead through these things with grace and humor. When I'm not mortified, that's what I hope I'm doing.