(un)domesticated goddess-ish is about the life of a 20 something single city girl gone *gulp* mountain step-mom.
I’m a horrible sharer. Blame it on Only Child Syndrome. Blame it on Mercury being in retrograde. Whatever the reason, if you stick your fork in my plate’s orbit and ask “Can I try a bite?” I will likely go full Hulk on you. I may not always explode out of my pants (reserved for special occasions), but I’ll grunt and mumble incoherently until you shake my medium rare slice of filet off your metal spear. Like, you ordered your own thing. You had your shot to order my thing and you didn’t.
I’ve pretty much always operated like this. I’ve had no reason to change! Friends and family either tolerated it or resorted to stealing bites and sips behind my back. But once I legally committed myself to another human for all eternity, I figured it was as good a time as any to rethink my capacity to share (or lack thereof).
My other half has taught me a lot in five years (like how to remove a fish hook out of my skin. You know, just in case.), but I’m particularly grateful for his patience while I learn to share things like blankets, headphones, face wash — and yes, even/especially food. I’ve even come so far as to be the first to ask if he wants a bite or sip before I dive in. My voice may quiver, and I may have already eaten some of his food, but I’m sincere about my offer. Mostly.
How noble of you, Sarah. That’s very mature of you, Sarah. You’re really adulting quite well, Sarah. Yeah, sure, things seem to be looking up, but I’m not gonna sit here and tell you my sharing issues are no more. Because as much progress as I’ve made with my husband, I’ve regressed to some of my Hulk-ish ways when it comes to sharing food with my step daughters.
Now before you swoop in and get all finger-waggy with me, let me first say: I love finger wagging. It’s so telegraphic. It’s often my first line of defense when someone tries to take the last croissant at Starbucks. So, I understand the urge to use it in this scenario. But I already know my food sharing behavior is neither very parental nor ladylike, so put your finger away and save that wag for another time.
That being said, why do I feel it necessary to deny these small humans some of my food or drink when they ask for it?
It’s not that I don’t WANT so share with them. It’s just, when I have (it was early in our relationship, I was still proving my coolness), I rarely saw my food or drink again. But you can’t blame my behavior. I’m assuming a parenting-type role after 28ish years of single child-dom, where I never had to protect my plate from sibling talons.
Oscar Wilde once said “with age comes wisdom.” I feel like I’m at a point where I can say: I get it, dude. And by “it” I obviously mean I’ve developed some key strategies to avoid forking over more food or drink than necessary. How mature, I know.
Intrigued? Read on. Vaguely disappointed? You’ve already read this far, might as well keep going.
When we’re out to dinner, sometimes I’ll tell them there’s an ingredient in my dish I know they won’t like. Beets are a great one. They sound and look like an internal organ.
Other times (especially when anything sweet or sugary is involved) Ill eat when they’re showering/playing/sleeping. I’m also not above excusing myself to “take care of some lady business.” And by that I mean I’m not above eating a Reese’s in a corner of our bedroom where I’m out of range of those sugar-sniffing hounds.
Afterwards, sometimes I do think “Was that worth it, Sarah? Were those chocolate covered almonds really worth the sneakery?”
Honestly, yes. Those things are $11.99 a pound.