You toucha my plate - I KEEL YOU!!!

Did you notice how this cute little poochie looks like he could rip off the hand that's going for his plate of food? That's how I react when someone tries to take food off of my plate. I hate it. You try to take my food and I'll stab you with a fork. I'll growl and hover over my plate if I'm dining with someone who I know will "sample" what I'm having. It's OK to take some of my food if I've offered it to you, but to just reach over and help yourself will most surely land you in the hospital. I'm not kidding.

I'm normally a very sharing type of girl but when it comes to mealtime I am like Dr's. Jekyll and Hyde. I wasn't always like this but my stinky brothers warped me. When we were young, mealtime was a time for family bonding. And food warfare. Our Mom didn't mind how many helpings we had but by golly, we had to eat what we put on our plate. The boys could inhale a meal in 5 minutes flat if Mom had let them. Instead, each of us had to put one hand in our lap and slowly chew our food. Shovelling was not allowed. We had to eat like civilized people. Being a female, my food intake was less than that of the boys, and I didn't eat like a savage either.

I took time to enjoy my meal while I imagine the boys didn't even taste theirs. They were too worried that the food would be gone before they were full. One of their nasty ploys was to ask me for a taste of whatever it was I was eating. Here's how it went: "Lizzie, gimme a bite of your sandwich. I want to see what it tastes like." Being the sweet people pleaser that I was, I'd hand over my sandwich expecting them to take a small nibble. Instead, they would cram as much of my sandwich into their mouth as they could fit! I'd be left with a corner of crust. Then, to add insult to injury they more often than not would say "that was AWFUL! Go make another and let me tell you if that one is better." This happened over and over again.

I learned to NEVER let them have a drink of whatever I had. Instead of taking a sip, they'd down the whole glass or bottle or 10 gallon drum. If they were sipping my root beer float, the same response would ensue that had occurred with the sandwich. "That was AWFUL! I hate it! Go make another!!!"  That sentence was one I heard at least 72,569 times as a kid.

That's why I hate people getting near my food or drink. I don't want to be left with a corner crust or backwash. I want my own food. I want my own drink. And if you're nice, I'll share some with you. Just don't try to take it without asking first. I'll stab you with a fork then I'll KILL YOU.