For the last eight months, it has been hard for me to eat Chex Mix in public.

I should explain.

When you love someone, it often requires a level of tolerance that you don’t become aware of until, well, you get to know them better. In other words, when you find out someone chews their nails and then picks the clippings out of their teeth, you are forced to make a decision: is this trait a “deal-breaker,” as the kids are saying these days? When you find out the person you love is an obnoxiously enthusiastic fan of Coldplay, or can’t drink black coffee, or (worst of all) “scream sneezes” … it forces you to think ahead and ask a very important question.

Can I live with this forever?

I am guilty of all the things mentioned above. However, I possess another nettlesome trait, which in my mind far outweighs the others.

I would not be aware of this flaw if it weren’t for my good friend Savvy. It was a January afternoon, and I was eating a bag of Chex Mix in class. In hindsight, that was my first mistake — or should I say, “mixtake.”

It was a noon class, so mid-lecture snacking was common. I did not hate the topic we were studying, and the bag of Mix was a gift, so I had all the ingredients for a truly holy experience. For the record, I reserve the word “holy” for only the most spiritual occasions, but you have to understand how much I love Mix. My salty predilection for pretzels and rye chips is nothing if not transcendent. So please put your sacrilege suits in my “suggestions” box. (It’s a trash can.)

Back to my story. I was eating my favorite snack in class. Yet something odd kept happening: every time I would chomp down on a mouthful of Mix, Savvy would giggle. If it was something especially crunchy — for example, two pretzels and a twisty stick — she would giggle even harder.

I don’t consider myself a dull person, but I am prone to missing social cues. This was one of those times. It was nearly 12:30 p.m. before I realized I was the comedy show responsible for her muted mirth.

Ears burning with embarrassment, I asked what was so funny. She smiled and did not answer. I ate another pretzel. The giggling continued.

I sat back in my seat, unjustifiably humbled. Then my phone buzzed. Without touching the screen (my fingers were covered in granules of salt), I glanced down and saw a message from Savvy.

“You chew very loudly,” she said, with an unflattering emoji of a nerd with buck teeth.

I couldn’t finish my Mix that day. About a third of the bag ended up in the garbage after class. Since then, I have been unable to consume my favorite snack in public, out of fear that my animalistic chomping would attract unwanted attention.

However, I know I’m being silly, because there are people in my life who love me despite my dinnertime disquietude. Even though I cannot accept it myself, I have friends who love me because I am human, and I am flawed. They don’t just tolerate the bits of fingernail in my teeth — they accept it. They don’t cover their ears out of annoyance when I sing Coldplay or sneeze with my whole body — they simply do it for their own sanity.

These people ask the question, “Can I live with this forever?” And their answer is a resounding, “Yes. Yes I can.”

Figure out who those people are in your life. Love them despite their flaws. Get them a present — maybe even a bag of Mix, because Mix is delicious.

Just don’t eat all the rye chips. Nobody likes that person.