SHARING IS CARING

*CLEARLY, THESE MORONS ARE CONFUSED...*

If you’re my friend or relative and you look like you practice good oral hygiene (and aren’t a teenager who might have mono), I have no qualms about sharing with you eating or drinking utensils or food. Just as long as we both agree that there won’t be any backwashing with drinks, I’m cool. Rest assured that if I’m eating a soy dog, and you want to try some, I will not ask you to break off a piece from the other end. You can take a bite from where I just bit off. Did you order a burger but suddenly have a hankering for the salad that I ordered? No problem, because you can have a forkful with my own fork.
Dear reader, if I know you in real life and I like you as a person, I’d even think about sharing a lollipop with you.
And, of course I’d share my ChapStick with you…which leads us to what inspired this latest post:

My brother and I were watching the World Sumo Championship at his place earlier today, rice cakes in hand. We had just witnessed a 250 lb Bulgarian get pulverized (and by pulverized I mean he was, in accordance with the rather simple rules of the sport, forced out of the ring) by a sumotori from the Republic of Georgia, who had more than 100 pounds on him. As I made a comment about what an insult to the sport the 250 lb wimp was, I reached for a ChapStick on the side table. The winter had done a number on my lips and I wanted nothing more than to moisturize them with America’s favorite lip balm.
So, there I was, talking trash about the puny Bulgarian sumo wrestler, and getting ready to apply strawberry ChapStick to my thirsty lips when my brother, who had been quiet so far, suddenly cried out, “DON’T USE MY CHAPSTICK! THAT’S GROSS!”
I was shocked. I couldn’t believe that lip balm could incite such an impassioned response from my brother, who is rendered deaf and mute during any sort of sporting activity. I was also a bit insulted.
“Wait a minute,” I said, ChapStick still in hand. “We spent the first 9 months of our lives in the same womb…but I can’t use your ChapStick?!”
“First of all,” he began, holding his hand out for the stupid lip balm, “I was long gone from that womb by the time you got there. And secondly, no you can’t use my ChapStick. It’s MY ChapStick. I don’t let anyone use my ChapStick.”
He honestly looked disgusted, so I “Ugh’d” and handed him his ChapStick.
A few minutes later, I padded to the kitchen. I had left a half-drunk can of Sprite Zero in the refrigerator. I scoured my brother’s refrigerator, which in recent months has gone from bachelor-pathetic (littered with condiments, jams and…more condiments) to health conscious-impressive.
There was no sign of my Sprite Zero.
“Dammit, I don’t know what happened to my Sprite Zero. I was looking forward to finishing that,” I told him, returning to the living room.
“Oh, yah. I drank that. Sorry.”
Ah, what.
“Now, let me get this straight. I can’t use your ChapStick, but you can drink my soda?”
On television, two sumotoris were squatting and I prayed that their Mawashis—the diaper-like cloth that barely covers their loins—would hold.
My brother just shrugged and said, “Yah, I guess so.”
U-G-H.

Sharing is caring, people, SHARING IS CARING.
AND I CARE!