Back when I was a kid, my mother used to give me sticks of string cheese for snacks.

This is relevant, I promise.

Now, anyone who has ever encountered string cheese knows how you're *supposed* to eat it. For whatever reason, though, I was expressly forbidden from the practice. The rules of my house mandated that I just open the plastic package, peel *that* down, then consume the white stick in a series of bites. (Anything else was considered "playing with my food.") It was certainly more efficient than the standard method, but a lot less fun... and unbeknownst to me, it was also something of a social taboo.

One morning when I was in second grade, one of my friends – a boy named Wesley – caught me in the act. He covered his mouth in affected shock, then let loose an ear-piercing squeal:

"What are you *doing?!* You can't just *bite it* like that!"

I looked down at the half-eaten stick in my hand. "Yes, I can," I replied. "Look, I already am."

"Hey! Hey, over here!" Wesley shrieked to the playground at large. "Max is eating his string cheese wrong!"

A few seconds later, I was surrounded by a half-dozen other kids, and all of them took turns chastising me for the heinous crime I was committing. (Even back then, I was a bit befuddled about why everyone seemed to care so much.) One little girl, sounding remarkably patronizing for her age, did her best to "gently" explain my alleged mistake, and the discussion somehow blossomed into a schoolyard meme of sorts. For the rest of the day, my classmates would find any excuse they could to explain how something or other *should* be done, and they'd always finish by saying "I just thought I should tell you, since you don't know how to do things."

I kept right on eating my string cheese wrong, though, mostly just to spite everyone.

**TL;DR: Biting my string cheese made me a social pariah.**