I’m what most people would call a “picky eater.” I’d argue that I just like what I like and I don’t deviate from those few things I love. For example I’m the type of guy that loves barbecue sauce but won’t ever touch tomatoes or ketchup, some Italian I am. I stopped eating our grandmothers famous, mouth watering coffee cake that I loved, once I found out it was predominately made of sour cream. I feel like thats a little more practical compared to those people that like orange juice but not oranges. Maybe me not wanting to eat off your plate or not wanting to share a bite of my burger or sub makes me picky. I just think it’s gross.

This is when things get weird. I have no problem sharing a bowl or passing a joints around with others. The bowl or joint barley touches our lips enough we don’t leave any trace of slobber on it. I see no issue with that. I mean if I wanna smoke I kind of have too. For some reason, that’s where I draw the line. That’s all I’ll share. I’m a horrible sharer. I failed that class in preschool… twice. I had two years of preschool, ask my mom I swear. I won’t even share fries from my plate or popcorn from my bag at the movies without them asking first. Otherwise if they try to reach onto my plate, I take that as a threat and will smack your hand away.

I’m even worse when it comes to the double d’s, drinks and dipping sauce. First off no one likes a double dipper. Seinfeld covered this, you only get one dip, no one gets to double dip unless it’s their own dip. I went to Sonic one night with a girl. Well she drove I was co pilot and dj making sure she stayed awake and on the road. Personally I felt like it was all those kisses I stole at all those red lights that kept her up awake. Anyways when we got to Sonic I ordered french toast sticks that I was absolutely craving. All she got was a side of hash browns and she was the one that wanted to go.

She barley stopped at the drive through window to get our food until we peeled out off the parking lot back onto the main drag. She insisted that I’d eat in her car while she drove back. I didn’t think that was a good idea. I was so scared to open the lid off the syrup. Far too many times growing up, and still now, do I accidentally rip it too hard and spill the syrup not just over me but all over the interior of the car too. I envisioned it happening again so ate my first french toast dry. She reiterated, “It’s okay to eat in here.”

I waited for a red light to make my move. While we were still I quickly opened my syrup eager to finally dip a stick. I was astonished… she beat me to the first dip. She dipped before me. It was like she was waiting for me to open it just so she could enjoy it, she didn’t care if I used it or not. She dipped her hash brown so deep into my syrup she had to lick her nail’s dry. I didn’t acknowledge it, it was her first dip I couldn’t be upset about her first dip. But when she went in again for a second time, with the same hash brown I had to call her out on it, “You can’t double dip!” and pulled the syrup away just as she indulged. I won’t forget her remark, “Why what’s the big deal, you already had your tongue down my throat.” I was speechless, she was right, not about my tongue down her throat but her point was logical. There was no reason why it should gross me out, we already shared saliva, but for some reason it bothers me immensely. I ate my three french toast dry thinking about all her spit that could up in my syrup.

Same deal goes for the other d… my drinks. I don’t even share a drink with my mom and she’s the one that brought me into this world. I watched someone borrow a sip of my water bottle once and they totally tarnished the concept of sharing water for the rest of my life. I watched him take gulp after gulp, letting all the water flow in and out of his mouth like a wave pool until he finally got tired of swishing around the water and slugged back a sip. He didn’t get all the water in his mouth, nor did he even drink that much, he just sucked his lips around the cap and filter enough water with his tongue enough that it’s scared me since. I haven’t never been able to share a drink with anyone anymore. If I give you a sip or if you steal one, I’d just wind up giving the rest to you, it weirds me out.

I’ll share any smoking mechanism with anyone all day long, unless they just ate some tuna or chicken salad or something disgusting like that. I’d politely ask them to go brush their teeth or rinse their mouth before they part take. As far as drinks, food, and my dipping sauce lay off. I know where my tongues been I don’t want to sit here wondering where yours has been while I’m eating. How would I know if you even brushed your teeth or not that day?