What's up with that last piece of pizza?

Go on, you know you want it, everyone else has said that they are full, look even big uncle Bill declared that if he had one more piece he would explode.

Come on, be honest, every one of you have sat at a table at some point in your life and heard that little voice inside your head urging you, "GO ON, just grab it, nobody is going to think any less of you.
What is it about that last slice of Pizza that has people so afraid to pick it up?

I can't remember at exactly what age this hideous disease first struck me down, however I can safely say I cannot recall suffering from it during my Primary School years. I suspect most people's first experience with this phenomenom is between the ages of thirteen and sixteen. One thing I do know for certain, is that once you are struck down with it, there is no cure.

So, let me set the scene. It had been a reasonably enjoyable evening. Conversation flowed well. We had so far managed to charter our way through the evening without little Nathan spilling his glass of coke all over aunty Margaret. Dad had spared us his take on the real reasons behind the current problems in the Middle East, and even Max the Maltese Terrier had been on his best behavior, refraining from passing wind underneath the dining room table.
And then it happened, as I was leaning forward to liberate the pizza carton of its second last slice of ham and pineapple, Vanessa, my soul mate, the mother of my two children, inexplicably and without notice, gently detaches it from its twin in a surgical like manner. How could I have ever fallen in love with this woman? I mean who was this cold, callous person sitting in the chair along side me?

You see, I had it all worked out, I had a plan methodically timed to perfection, or at least so I thought. I had not only budgeted to eat five slices, I had planned to achieve it without having to be THE one who devoured the LAST SLICE. Not only did I now have to sit through that comical awkward charade of "Oh no I am too full, you have it", "no, you have it", and "Oh no, I couldn't possibly". Thanks to my missus, who virtually crash-tackled me for that second last piece, everyone else at the table now knew that I really did want it!

Knowing full well that at least three quarters of the people sitting at the table probably had designs on it, I was resigned to the fact that Pizza etiquette dictates that as the host, I couldn't possibly have my evil way with it.

Finally, frustrated with watching everyone eyeing off this lonely and vulnerable triangular piece of pastry, I happened to notice Max circling beneath the table like a shark at a Weight Watcher's beach party.

As a reward for his good behavior during the evening, I decided to allow him a special treat; after all Pizza etiquette was probably lost on him. Just as I was transferring that lonely last slice of Pizza to its final resting place, this incredibly eye watering odor started to make its way north. I guess etiquette really is lost on Max.