I have a friend who refuses to date women from the Northeast (NY, NJ, CT, etc.) because he says they don’t “bless their food” before they eat.

He says he has taken them to restaurants and bowed his head in prayer, only to hear the women’s forks and knives click against their plates as they started eating.

One young lady from New Jersey, he proclaims, took his salad fork while his head was down and used it to scrape chives from her baked potato. She returned the fork, “But that’s not the point,” he says.

I can’t completely agree with my friend’s regional observation—since I have female friends and family members from the Northeast and I’m almost certain I’ve seen one of two of them bless their food.

I’ve also gone on dates with women (some for the Northeast) who were anxious to express their religious devotion at the dining table.

I once shared an IHOP breakfast with a young lady and she blessed the food so long that it turned into a mini-sermon worthy of a Thanksgiving feast.

She bowed her head and spread her arms the length of the table with her palms up. I thought the metal table frame would rise off the floor like in an X-Men movie. 

I was respectful and followed along until she said, “Thank you for these eggs, Lord,” and began calling out every food item on the table.

I sighed and rolled my eyes, like, “Will you please bless this cheese grits before it gets cold.”

The young lady gave a disapproving glance before concluding the ceremony with an “Amen.”

She was a devout Christian and found it astonishing that I don’t eat pork. I think she assumed I’m Muslim because she asked how I felt about the recent Hezbollah (an extremist group in the Middle East) attacks on Israel.

The question made me think, “Is this chick trying to ask if I’m a terrorist?”

She would ask several such questions during the meal. And suffice it to say, that was our first and last breakfast together.

Another young lady had a more family-oriented approach to saying grace. We were at a Mexican restaurant, and when our food arrived, she said I was supposed to lead in the blessing because the man is the head of the household.

I thought, “Head of the household? We met at the TJ Maxx store when I was returning some jeans—we don’t’ have a household.

She invited me to her church as a second date and when I declined several times, she said I wasn’t serious about starting a family.

I found it interesting how she skipped a few steps in the process and was unwilling to compromise. Everyone knows you don’t discuss wedding plans and potential baby names until the third date.

But I don’t want to just harp on Christian woman—because I dated a young lady who wasn’t religious (according to her), but spiritual.

She was of the “Conscious” community and we would attend cultural events, like concerts and festivals, since we had similar interests.

We ate lunch at a Chipotle restaurant one day and sat outside on the patio.

Before we started eating, she pulled out a stick of sandalwood incense from her purse, her pocket, or somewhere, and lit it at the table. She waved it around and then stuck it between the grooves in the metal tabletop.

People seated near us looked around like, “What the hell,” and I thought the same.

The young lady was offended when I told her I didn’t want the area smelling like an African “black soap” store while I was eating.

I knew she liked to burn incense. In her apartment, she had one of those silver incense balls like the Pope carries around on the little chain. She would fill it with “myrrh and frankincense,” or something biblical, and have her apartment looking like a scene from Phantom of the Opera.

I didn’t mind the incense at her place but thought it was a bit excessive for the restaurant.

She and I went out a few times after the sandalwood incident, but things were never the same between us. She went on to say that I didn’t respect her “cultural centeredness,” and we eventually stopped hanging out together.

I don’t mind someone expressing their religious appreciation at the dinner table, or anywhere—regardless of their region of origin—as long as the expression doesn’t superimpose on the moment.

It should be a true show of gratitude and not just a “show.”

And I was joking about my female friends and family members from the Northeast—most of them bless their food before they eat.

That’s an example of how regional stereotyping can be misleading.

But there is a regional typecast that holds true: Everyone knows women from Atlanta don’t wash their hands before leaving the restroom.

Lesson Learned: The smell of sandalwood takes two to three washes to leave your clothes … and about three months to leave your car seats.