Yes, that husband. The one who — as wonderful as he is —is not great at sharing.
In one certain circumstance, he’ll give you his last dime or the shirt off his back.
But dessert?
Don’t let him close.
A single lick of an ice cream cone is not in his repertoire.
Split a dessert at a restaurant? Worst idea ever.
Unless you’re on some kind of crash diet.
This is the man who pointed the finger at me this week.
He went looking for a certain box of candy that was supposed to be waiting in our pantry.
Not just any candy.
Sees Candy.
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This is no paid advertisement.
Anyone who grew up in California knows this to be the best chocolate in the world.
You can have your Godiva, your Swiss chocolate, your $1,000 truffles.
I’ll take my Sees, thank you very much.
Husband knew nothing of Sees before we started dating.
On an early trip to San Francisco, I took him inside the heaven that is a Sees Candy shop. I do believe he fell in love with me that day. Certainly did with Sees.
You can’t get the stuff east of the Mississippi River, which is the region of the country we live in now. So, when a friend gifted us with a small box last week, it was like receiving a true treasure.
A treasure to be shared?
Perhaps.
Perhaps, I would suggest, not.
Yes, I dipped into the well of that chocolate delectableness more than a few times.
During the day when I met a deadline.
After dinner.
Because, well, it was chocolate o’clock somewhere.
These were precious moments, until Husband went looking for his share.
“Where has it all gone?” He was shocked and surprised. “You accuse me of not being a good sharer? What about all these empty brown paper cups?”
He presented the box of mostly empty wrappers as Exhibit A.
There was an orange cream and something with coconut left.
Neither would ever pass my lips.
This is where I turn to you, Dear Reader.
Is it possible that not everything is to be shared?
That we lie to our children when we tell them, “You need to learn to share.”
Husband wanted me to be sorry.
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I am not.
I who give, give, give.
Allowed myself a rare moment to take.
More than my fair share, if you must do inventory.
Like our puppy caught endless times stealing the cat’s food.
I’m not sorry.
I’ll do it again if another box shows up.
Am I the only selfish one?
Do you have something not meant to be divvied up?
If so, please share.
Your story, that is.
Not your treasure.
I’ll check in after I go drill a new hole in my belt.
At the risk over sharing,
There’s suddenly more of me to go around.
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