Sharing May Be Caring, But Not When It Comes to My Mug
Before I got married, I lived alone. I was the Queen of my castle. My castle happened to be a studio apartment, but it was all mine. The bathroom, the bed, and whatever happened to be in the refrigerator were all mine. Then I got married, and it changed almost instantly. I’m not saying that’s a bad thing, but it is a huge change.
Generally speaking, I embrace sharing. For instance, I like sharing a bathroom with my husband. Based on our different schedules we don’t have to get ready at the same time, so most of our time together is in the evening. We talk, we catch up, we floss. There are actually many things I am happy to share with my husband. My mug is not one of them. Okay, mugs plural. And my pen. I don’t share my pen. A few years ago, I let my husband use my pen to sign a guest book at an art exhibit. When I asked for it a few minutes later, he didn’t have it. He left it in the guest book. Once that happened, he knew not to ask to use my pen again.
That brings us back to mugs. I have a few special ones I have my coffee in everyday. My husband thinks that he too should be able to use these mugs. He says, “What’s the difference? You just pull out a mug and use it.” No, because certain mugs in the cabinet are obviously mine. A couple are from schools only I attended, and one is from the Justin Timberlake 20/20 tour I went to without him. On top of that, I bought him mugs from the schools he went to, so we could both have special mugs.
I’m sure many people agree with him, or think that I have idiosyncrasies or childhood issues around sharing. Maybe so, but as a wife and mother, I feel like I share enough. My body, my time, my goals, and my space have all been sacrificed to a great extent for my family. I made these choices freely, and I happily share my life and most of my belongings. My mug and my pen, those are all mine.