Get Your Hands Off My Sh*t!

sharing is caring

This is how I used to share when I was 2. Psych!

First thing you need to know about me: I am not a socialist — except when it comes to health care, social services, infrastructure maintenance, the postal service and police and fire protection. Otherwise, what’s mine is not yours.

But my mom thinks differently. According to Susy-Share-the-Wealth, the moment some kid “asks” I’m supposed to relinquish control of every toy, doll or those cool coffee stirrers I snagged from Starbucks. What a load of horse sh*t.

Don’t get me wrong. Most of the time I’m game to share my crayons or a picture book, as long as I’m the one making the decision. But when my mom tells me I MUST share — that’s when I lose it. Where does she get off? How would she like it if I yanked off her wedding ring and demanded she “share” it with some random woman who just admired it? “But mom, it would make her sooooo happy!”

It’s really just one more manifestation of her classic narcissistic tendencies. I guess it makes HER look bad when I won’t share my toys if the kid’s parent is within earshot. If I refuse to hand over my Hello Kitty figurine (and especially if the kid starts freaking out because I won’t comply)  she believes she’s perceived as not properly teaching me the virtues of equal distribution. Otherwise known as a “PARENTING FAIL.” No wonder she’s so high on it.

“Sharing is caring” my ass.