I like to share.

Last night we went to the all you can eat Chinese buffet. That’s the first sentence in my novel…no, it’s not but it’s a good one. I might have to consider writing a novel now…

Anyway, we went to the buffet and I had a realization about my eating habits. I share a lot. I am a sharer. My mom told me it was nice to share and if you sit next to me at dinner, you will get your share. Sometimes whether you want it or not. And you know they don’t encouraging sharing at buffets, so it was probably a good time to realize my sharing and rein it in alittle.

Sharing is particularly common when I am with my husband, and with him I share in a way I wouldn’t share with you. Not because it’s terribly gross (well, it might be to you actually) but because he is married to me and has had worse things than that bite of food with my teeth marks on it. But I digress yet again. With my husband, I very often take a bite of something and then put the rest on his plate. Now he is not really as…effusive a sharer as I am. He is willing to share with me but it turns out that he is unlikely to share with you. Whereas, if I am eating with you, I will offer you a bite off my fork and then wonder why you recoil in horror at the sight of a previously gnawed bit of food. Then I will rethink my sharing and offer you an untouched piece that you may pick up with you own fork.

In the end of it all though, my husband generally ends up with about a quarter of whatever was on my plate on his plate. But there are other rules with other people. For example, if Jules and I were to have lunch together and we both have pickles on our plate she will wait until I appear to be done with my food and ask “So, you gonna eat that pickle?” and I will always give her at least half. Sometimes, if I am in a particularly good mood, she can have the whole thing. Not long ago, while out drinking with a friend, I was waiting for the attention of barkeep. The friend handed me his glass with the last bit of beer in it. This seems like a good share to me. I am all for sharing beer with me. But it struck me as a particularly nice thing to do. And being a happy sharer, I didn’t bat an eyelash but I did pound the rest of that beer and I intend insist upon this sort of sharing in the future. Everyone take note…I get the last bit of your beer, ok?

There are also the “Ren likes the weird bits” of sharing. If the husband has French fries, I get all the crunchy ones. If he has pizza, I get the crusts. Personally, I like these arrangements. I know that with certain people, I will get the bits of the food that I like (crunchy fries, pizza crusts) and they will get the bits they like (one shrimp from every dish, half a pickle). Last night though, I was willing to share my last bits. I ate the tentacles but nobody wanted to share the head. Look, I am a sharer, I am happy to share with you. Just take the head.

(Actually, it should be noted that I ate the head of the sardine but left the tail. I ate the tentacles of the octopus but left the head. Some things are just too strange for me.)