Who Dishes the Pasta?

Mr. Martin at my left is telling me about air conditioners and Mr. Bob at my right has explained his lifetime work in heavy farm equipment when the linguini is served.  Clams smile toothlessly up at us, and the shrimp adds it's own rosy element.  One plate, 8 invitees, one serving utensil.  As I am pondering this, Mr. George to Mr Bob's right stands up, grabs the prongs, and declares, "I'll serve!" I shrivel, shrinking down in my chair at how I am disgracing Mr. George with my slow response to the obvious need.  I am the youngest woman at the table by at least 30 years. One week back in the States did NOT prepare me for this!  My role as a young woman often finds me dishing up the sauce, the tuwo, the fish...the pasta. Culture shock strikes again!