Sharing is caring

Wednesday, January 26, 2011

I learned something very ugly about myself on Monday night.

I do not like to share.

Learning how to share is like Kindergarten 101, but it’s a concept I’ve never been good at.

Clayton and I went to the mall on Monday evening to return an item and make our traditional pilgrimage to the puppy store. On our way out I suddenly remembered I’m a big, fat pig and needed something to satisfy my sweet tooth. We made a stop at the cookie store and I picked out a giant sugar cookie coated with a super thick layer of icing in the shape of Elmo’s face. The cookies are like a thousand dollars, so we opted to buy just one and split it.

“So how do you want to divide this thing up?” I asked as I tried to pull the soft cookie from its wax paper. “Do you want me to just tear it in half?” But the cookie was starting to collapse from the sheer weight of its frosted awesomeness, and one of us needed to take a bite … and fast.

“Just eat as much as you want and then give me the rest,” Clay suggested.

“That’s dangerous territory,” I replied, greedily shoving the cookie in my mouth.

In less time than it took me to pay for the stupid thing, I had eaten half of Elmo’s face, including one of his scrumptious eyes, and it was time to pony up the rest to Clay.

“Looks like you ate way more than half,” Clay said, forcefully prying the rest of the cookie from my hand.

At this point we were sitting in our car and I had to wait for Clayton to eat his part of the cookie before he started driving. Only, I didn’t want to watch him eat his part of the cookie. I wanted his part of the cookie to be ALL OF MY COOKIE.

“Can I have a bite?” I whined, sticking out my bottom lip.

“Court, you ate half of it already. This half is mine,” Clay said around a mouthful of deliciousness.

“But ... but … it’s so good. I didn’t get enough. I’m … I’m … hungryyyyyyyyyyyyy …”

Then I stopped talking and just started whimpering. “Fine. Take a TINY nibble from the side,” Clay sighed, cautiously dangling the cookie by my face. I made a move for it, delicately taking a teeny tiny bite from the sugar cookie, but making it a point to take a giant tongue-full of the frosting.

“BAD GIRL!” Clay scolded, shoving the rest of the cookie into his mouth. Then he started making “Mmm!” sounds to spite me, showing me the giant mound of red icing sitting on his tongue.

“KISS ME!” I yelled desperately, lunging across the car.

He immediately swallowed the cookie. “Nice try,” he laughed, turning on the ignition.

I hate sharing.


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