Wednesday, October 3, 2012

I don't share well. Get my straw out of your mouth.

One of my favorite memories that Trouble and I share is "the time that bitch ate my brie". We were at a restaurant, one of those cool wine bars where the actual 6 page menu is all different kinds of wine, and then the little drink card has a short list of food if you were so inclined. Heavy on the cheese and smoked meats.

I love that. That is how it should be.

Anyway, we were at this wine bar, and for dinner I ordered a glass of wine and a piece of brie with some bread. (I know, I know. The perfect meal.) Trouble had a friend visiting, a woman I had only just met, who had joined us for dinner. She didn't know me. She didn't know about my OCD tendencies, or my profound love of triple cream brie. And she casually reached right over, helped herself to a scoop of St Andre off my plate, and grabbed a slice of warm baguette.

Everyone at the table froze, waiting to see if I was going to stab her with my fork. Then Trouble burst out laughing and had to excuse herself. I switched to defense and kept my hand over my plate for the rest of the evening.

Long story short, I don't share my food.

It's not just the triple cream brie - and it's not just limited to food. I don't like people sharing my drink, either. I also don't share silverware, lipbalm, underwear or bathing suits without being grossed out and sure that I'll end up catching something contagious. This weekend, someone grabbed my drink and stuck the straw in her mouth, and if it hadn't been 100 degrees I would have thrown the damn thing away afterwards - but I was desperate, and I took it back and kept drinking, trying to breath through my paralyzing fear of having someone else's mouth germs in my own mouth. I tried to convince myself that the lime wedges in the cup would kill the bacteria.

Do not even get me started on how I felt when someone asked if they could have a bite of my sandwich.

It's not greed. I will happily say "you can just have the rest of that" anytime someone wants to try something I am eating. I will break it in half, ask for a second plate, cut/tear/rip off a bite, whatever. But if I have an ice cream, you will not be offered a lick (((shudder))) or an extra spoon.


And it's hard to not seem rude. I hate that my mind works this way. I *want* to be able to share. And I definitely don't want to insult anyone, or insinuate that they have germs.

And I am proven right time and time and TIME AGAIN because this morning I woke up with a cold and my first thought was: "I should never have shared that straw." I will now sit and punish myself for slipping. For not just handing over the drink and letting it go.

I deserve this cold. May it be a lesson to me.

Irony? After getting all bent out of shape about sharing a straw, I went to a strip club which is pretty much the least-clean place on the planet, and contemplated ordering a steak to eat right between the dancers legs, with their naked bodies not a foot away. With an extra fork and side plate, of course.

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