Keep your fucking hands off my dessert, I yelled at the guy sitting across the table from me, OFF OFF.
Calm down, Violet, I just want to taste it.
Then order your own Please. I hate sharing my dessert, I seriously hate it.
He put his spoon down. And gave me the death stare.
Apparently if you don’t like sharing you are a very mean person.
I must be a mean person. I don’t like sharing.
Unless it’s on my terms.
‘Hey, John this is really delicious, mmm, yum, wanna taste?’
And when John says yes then I put a little bit on my spoon and pass it over.
But I do not want John leaning over me, digging HIS spoon into my dessert and helping himself.
Although that is better than him leaning over, taking MY spoon and helping himself.
It’s a bit like at yoga. My space is my space. And don’t you dare invade it.
I will share happily if the conditions are right. Like, if it’s in bed and we’re having great sex and there are strawberries or chocolate or champagne or all three and I’m naked and on top and it’s sexy and it’s fabulous and oh god yes more please yes oh oh god, yes!!!
Then I will share anything with you.
If I don’t know you that well, and we’re new and we’re not even the slightest bit intimate and it’s a first date, like last night, and it’s not going very well at all, then:-
Have some boundaries.
You useless cunt
Keep your hands off my creme brûlée.
And don’t ever call me again.
Thanks. And Bon Appetite.