Sharing An Apartment Leads Tp Sharing Food

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Sharing An Apartment Leads Tp Sharing Food
Sharing food with your boyfriend, and others.

Now I love to share food. Not just with Frank, though that’s where it started. Now I always like to share, because you get more variety that way. Which is, of course, the reason why people were trying to get me to share all along, not because they wanted to steal part of my share of dinner or something.

I directly attribute this to living with Frank, though it is not the case that he is particularly in favor of sharing food. In fact, the only time he really gets to eat meat is when we go out to dinner, so often as not we don’t share anyway.

It’s something that stems from the relaxing of the radical fairness I mentioned before. I used to believe that for something to be fair, it absolutely had to be split down the middle. If I did the dishes one night, Frank had to do them the next, or else it wasn’t fair. If there were eight pieces of sushi, each person gets four, no matter what.

Now, after three-and-a-half-ish years of living together, I’ve learned to take the long view of what’s fair. Or maybe a more communistic one, from each according to his abilities and to each according to his needs. This trust that, in the end, it’ll all work out fair has been really good for me in lots of ways—not the least the niceness of abandoning the constant score-keeping. I worry a lot less about being taken advantage of, or somehow being a pushover.

Plus, now I love to share food. With anybody and everybody. It’s so much nicer that way, everyone gets a bite of everything. I suppose my point in all this is that sometimes, unless you really stop to think about it, you can miss the small surface changes in your behavior that ripple out from deeper, more underlying shifts in understanding.

Sometimes they are good, and sometimes they are bad. Either way, it’s interesting to me to try and sort them out. It seems like, once unpacked, the changes of an obscure origin are the most interesting of all.