Ridge watched Lyndi and I eat sushi with chop sticks, his eyes dancing with curiousity as he dropped food into our mouths by lifting it between two thin, wood beams. After he sampled the calamari, which he continues to believe was chicken, I ordered him raspberry ice cream.
Politely, Ridge requested his own chop sticks. He pulled them apart, giggling already with this food gimmick, and then dipped the sticks into the ice cream, stringing it in his mouth as he saw Lyndi and me do with sushi.
Red ice cream dribbles on his chin, he laughed. He dips the sticks back in, more ice cream stringing about the patio.
So, Ridge is become a cultured man of the world.