I eat with my elbows on the table and often talk with food in my mouth. I have no idea what an artichoke even looks like, let alone how to eat one. Despite my complete barbarism, I hold a very high code of etiquette when it comes to the bedroom. Maybe I don’t hold up on my end (although my sheets were laundered a couple days ago, if that counts for something), but know that even in the morning the most minute detail must pass through my comprehensive, six-volume (unpublished) publication (that only exists in my mind), Systemma Connubialica (yes, I researched a dead language for my column. Some Sun columnists actually do include a little effort in their columns instead of waxing indignant about PowerPoint in size 150 font, or, even worse, vomiting out the worst approval matrix known to man. I’m sorry I’m not sorry. I’m a cocksman).