I don’t like to share. I do teach kindergarten, so I fake it at school.
Sharing is fine for other people; it’s great in theory, it’s just not for me.
My therapist believes this phenomenon is rooted in the fact that I was born a twin. An identical twin.
For all you singletons out there, being a twin equates to never ever having anything of your own; it begins before birth, hence the term: womb-mate.
I’ve shared everything with my sister from birthday cakes to boyfriends.
My husband, Jim, is the first man who could tell us apart.
So I married him.
But I still don’t like to share, even with him.
True confession Proof:
Jim: Hun, remember to order more of that lotion you like; you know…the one you used to keep on your bathroom counter?
Me: It’s on my list; thanks. Why are you telling me that?
Jim: Well, I noticed it was gone.
Me: Oh. Well thanks, but I’m not out of it. I just started hiding it from you because I noticed you were using it.