Wednesday, June 17, 2009

yours, mine, ours, mine, and also mine


It's not my forte. Not at all my bailiwick. In fact, it's one of my personal peccadilloes.

(Those last two sentences, drawing together two of my least favorite words, are brought to you by my 2002 boss, the Most Insane Nice Person Ever. Managing smart people was not her bailiwick, and working under her was one of my peccadilloes. But I digress.)

Ahem. Yeah, I suck at sharing. I was an only child, and my father enjoyed torturing me by threatening to remove anything I liked as a child. He had this game where I would get a shiny, new balloon, and he would make me put my hands behind my back, and then he would let go of the balloon and let it soar up to our 20-foot ceiling, counting to 5 until I was allowed to reach for it with my tiny, impotent little hands.

And then my mom had to get out the ladder and a yardstick with masking tape on it while I cried and he laughed.

Again, I digress. Can you tell I have sharing issues?

The point is this: You already know I hate to share cupcakes, but now i'd like to tell you about the wide variety of bizarre and random things that I utterly refuse to share with anyone, even my children and the love of my life.

1. My blanket. I have 2 favorite blankets, and I refuse to share them. If we were on Hoth, and Dr. Krog's tauntaun's intestines were no longer steaming warm after he fought the wampa, and he looked longingly at my blanket with eyes crusted in frozen tears, I would probably tell him to get his own damn blanket.

2. My water bottle. Yes, if it's 100 degrees out, i'll let my child have a few gulps to keep us out of the hospital. But the thought of all those little floaties gently dancing in my water totally squigs me out. If you don't have kids, "floaties" are what happens when residual food in a toddler's mouth is released into your water, and suddenly there are bits of hot dog and avocado floating around in your drink. It's no good.

3. The good frozen meals. Especially the Lean Cuisines with fish, or rigatoni, or the Kashi ones. Dr. Krog can have the Chicken Teriyaki. Sorry, Dr. Krog.

4. My magazines. Fashion and gossip magazines are one of my guilty pleasures, especially when enjoyed in an indulgent bath. But for some reason, if Dr. Krog reads them first, it's like they're not shiny anymore. There are grease spots on them from his dinner, and dog-eared pages, and it feels like old news. I want all the horrible, cheesy glitter for my own, selfish, celebrity-love-hate-disgust self.

5. My special mugs. I love hand-made mugs and buy about one per year from a local clay show and sale. And I don't want anyone else to use them, ever. Because if someone else broke or chipped one of my special mugs, i'd have to break all their fingers. With a brick.

6. My bath. I don't want anyone else's body filth in my bath. I don't want anyone's hair, toenails, sweat, or swamp butt in my bath. I don't want anyone else enjoying my Lush bath bombs, when I can manage to get my frugal, clutching hands on one. I don't want Michael, Eddie, and Freddy from the Little People bobbing cheerfully around my navel. And while i'm in the bath, I don't want to answer any questions, other than perhaps, "What would you like from Chickfil-A, darling?" I'm pretty sure that happened once. It was lovely.

7. My exercise time. Aside from walking on the trails or treadmill with a friend, I just don't want to talk to anyone at the gym or while shredding at home in front of my laptop. I don't want small talk from other gymgoers, offers from bored trainers, or tiny people using dolls as barbells asking me why the lady on TV is wearing her bra while she does push-ups. Before Jazzercise conflicted directly with t.rex's nap schedule, I lived in fear of the over-anxious leaders and their zealous attempts at mandatory audience participation. I do not need to sing along with Fall Out Boy to feel upbeat about my exercise.

8. My breakfast. If you read this post, i'm sure you now understand that MY MORNING IS SACROSANCT. But seriously, when the Biscuit sweetly begs for a bit of my egg-mushroom-spinach-omelett-on-mini-whole-wheat-bagel-with-just-a-dab-of-Trader-Joe's-lite-mayo, I want to roar until the windows crash and car alarms go off and small birds fall from the sky. It's just embarrassing.

I could probably go on, except that 1. It will only get more embarrassing, and 2. My child wants my attention so badly that she's starting to get dangerous. And shirtless.

Please tell me you guys are as bad at sharing as I am? I'm not selfish about being selfish. You guys can be as selfish as you want, and i'm totally cool with that. Deal?


Anonymous said...

Oh God yes, I have things I hate to share. Too numerous to list. Glad I'm not the only selfish one.

Love your blog. Glad you somehow found me so I could find you. I'm adding you to the list of my guilty pleasures. (Oh wait, does that sound too gross or personal?)

Beth said...

I totally get selfish with my food. I'm getting better... after all, when a 4 year old asks for a bite of my salad, what kind of mother am I to say "absolutely NOT."

I don't share my good salad dressing and hide them if need be. (The expensive kind that is sold in the refrigerated section). Everyone else can use the Kraft ranch... their palate isn't nearly as picky as mine.

I don't like when my husband sits down at my computer... he has a fancy shmancy Mac Book Pro, but gets on my computer when he is not in the mood to boot up his.

I don't share my wine well either. "Don't you have BEER in the fridge?"

The nice body soap in the shower is now off limits to my husband, as he would use a bottle in a week (it takes me 2 months). While I appreciate his need to smell pretty, he can use the cheap bar soap from now on.

That's all that came to mind, but I am sure my real list is much longer ;-)

Anonymous said...

Early on in our marriage,probably the first week, I was introduced to a side of my Sweetie I had never seen. As I was getting ready for work one morning, my hairdryer quit drying. Well, with hair below my waist, that constituted an emergency in my mind (God knows I HATE curls, especially on me). I picked up my Sweetie's hairdryer & began feverishly drying. HE came into the bathroom & saw that I was using "HIS" hairdryer. Well, you would have thought I had just killed his mother, or something similarly egregious. He demanded "Why are you using MY hairdryer?" I replied that mine was broken & I had to use his so I could get to work on time. His response was "If you use MY hairdryer, it will wear out too soon!" Of course I said what any newlywed gal would say; "We're married now...what's yours is mine & what's mine is yours, right?" He didn't particularly like my terse response, and I wasn't going to stop using his d*** hairdryer (I actually had a spine & stood up for myself back then...what happened to that?!) Later that week, he retaliated by pouring an entire jar of pickle juice onto my head over the top of the shower curtain.
OK, flash forward 35 years. He will now give me (and anyone he likes)the shirt off his back. He's come a long way since then, and he's still my very best friend. But he still cringes whenever I have to use HIS truck. As I back down the driveway, I think I see the glint of a tear in the corner of his eye...but he keeps his thoughts to himself and manages a smile just for me.

Lynn said...

I'm with you on every single one of those things. The mug thing? Totally. And oh God, the water bottle. And just today I gave my 2 year old the death stare when she stole my last bite of bran muffin. Can't a woman even have her own breakfast?

Isabel Aven and Sylvia Harper said...

wine, computer, any sort of cake or cupcake. very predictable, within reason, and completely understandable if you ask me. my husband is learning, albeit very slowly. my children will learn soon enough i hope.

apparently beth and i have these things in common?

Anonymous said...

My chocolate stash. My favorite shirts and books. Anything my husband decides he wants to share as in why-the-hell-are-you-drinking-cranberry-juice-when-I-need-it or why-are-you-using-my-iPod-when-you-have-your-own or are-you-really-using-my comb. Yeah, it's only with the husband that I get supper territorial.

MindfulMama said...

Count me among teh squigged-out-by-sharing-drinks- with little backwashing bastard children.

Leslie said...

Today, I don't know which is funnier, your post or the comments to your post?

Having had 4 of the backwashing little pods, I mean, er, children. I understand it all. I mean, really, is it too much to ask to pee/bathe in peace and to eat my meal at least while it's still warm and no one's been there before me?

EttyOop said...

#2: YES! I despise the little floaty bits and will buy my children their own water to share rather than me sharing with them.

#4: Thank you. I'm glad I am not the only one to understand this. My husband thinks it's funny. And he reads them. MY Bon Appetit. MY Entertainment Weekly. I'm not saying don't read them, but they're MINE. I wanna read em first, while they're still pristine.

6: Oh lord yes!

8: I've had to get over this one, as I now have THREE children clammering for my breakfast. "Mommy, what are you eating?" from the older two, with those puppy dog eyes... "DAT!!!" from the toddler... I share because I feel like a bad mommy when I don't. But man do I hate sharing my yummy leftovers omelet with tater tots and buttered multigrain toast.

stinestrain said...

omg cleo's nina, PICKLE JUICE? really? yuck!!

I am a fairly good sharer for an only child, except when I'm pregnant. I may have already cried once today while saying "no, catie, that is MOMMY'S DRINK!!!"

although, this isn't really sharing, but I hate help in the kitchen. people offering to help me cook or -god forbid- load or unload my dishwasher for me, makes me twitch. but you know this ;)

Christine's Arts said...

I have to admit I hide MY candy so well that no one even knows that I do so. (no one is reading over my shoulder ~ whew) But seriously, wait til the kids want to drive your car. I'm so glad we bought that beat up old van. No worries. Oh, well that's not true. There have been a few fender benders. But it is worth having with all its worries so MY car stays dentless.

Virginia Valerie said...

I don't share my Snickers, and generally anything else I've already bitten into, unless it's Dr. J, because I bite into arms regularly and haven't caught his cooties yet. And since i dont' have kids, I haven't really encountered the whole backwash/not really my cupcake/breakfus interruptus thing. But someday when I do I'm sure I'll be territorial. Now that I think about it, my parents didn't share either - they just made sure everyone had their own, and once you were done with that, too bad. No more. Hmmm. Is that possible? Maybe I'll try to be like that. In other news, Stinestrain, I'm totally with you on the helping in the kitchen. Except I'm not with you, as you're in your kitchen and I'm in mine. Yes, definitely get the H out of my GD kitchen and let me cook and dance to my crazy techno in peace kthxbai.

delilah, the unruly helpmeet said...

incognitomom, welcome!

Beth, the computer thing drives me crazy, too.

Mama, I always love the pickle juice stories.

Val, you will learn, and if you knew what sorts of nice things come out of Christine's kitchen when you just stay out of her way... you would totally stay out of her way.

Glad i'm not alone, guys!

veganf said...

Ditto on the water bottles. And my "MINE!" items are some dishes and Hello Kitty silverware...however I will share them with my kids, but never another adult. Pthththth!

My sandwich, cereal, etc. all gets swindled by the 5 and under set. Which leads me to overeating selfishly during my few moments alone in the evening.

veganf said...

stinestrain - I agree about MY kitchen. Just DON'T try to help me. I want the dishes loaded JUST SO. DO NOT MESS WITH MY DISHES! If you want to be helpful, unload them when they're clean...without getting your greasy fingerprints on the eating-ends of the utensils!!!

Caroline D. said...

I have a special hiding place where I eat my special food like dark chocolate and trail bars where Isabel can't see me because apparently i don't have the backbone to just say no to her?