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Only Psychos Share Desserts

Only Psychos Share Desserts

“Pick out whatever you want,” he said, gesturing toward the glistening dessert counter.

I licked my lips and tentatively stepped closer, gazing at the array of decadent sweets. Rich chocolate cakes and fluffy mousse cups. Brightly colored fruit tarts and golden yellow lemon bars. Red velvet cupcakes topped with towering, cream cheese capped mountains. Adorably teeny tea cookies and comically giant chocolate chip cookies. Dipped cannoli, drizzled strawberries, and the most perfect piece of chocolate peanut butter cheesecake I had ever seen.

“That one,” I said, voice hoarse, pointing through the glass. “The cheesecake.”

I watched in wonder as the man boxed up my dessert with precision and carried it over to the cash register where my boyfriend was waiting. Why did he take me out to dinner and insist I order whatever dessert I wanted? I had no idea. But as the smiling waiter handed me the delicate box, I didn’t care. He could have cheated on me, murdered someone, committed fraud — it didn’t matter (okay, it might have mattered a *little*). I had the most perfect piece of cheesecake in my possession and life was good.

When we got home, we immediately jumped into action. Fancy clothes were off and ugly lounge clothes were on. Netflix was booted up, wine glasses were filled, and water cups were topped off. Finally, as we were setting in for the ideal night for the lowkey 25-30 demographic, I went to the kitchen to grab myself a fork and carried over my prized box.

Opening the lid, it was even more beautiful than I had remembered. The chocolate icing lined the edge and little peanut shavings danced across the creamy surface. Piped peanut butter filling oozed along the top and an array of chocolate chips sprinkled over the entire piece. A dollop of whipped cream stood proudly at the top, beckoning me to dive in. My mouth watered as my fork started its downward descent toward the dessert and then…

“Hey! Where’s my fork?”

I turned toward the man sitting next to me, wondering if I had misheard him.

“What do you mean?” I asked, confused by his question.

“Do you want to just share a fork?” he questioned back, pointing toward the utensil in my hand.

I looked from his earnest face to the fork in my hand and that’s when I realized — he was expecting us to share this perfect piece of chocolate peanut butter cheesecake. I tried to formulate a response that wasn’t “are you fucking insane?” He doesn’t even like cheesecake that much. Why was it that I was supposed to share this with him?

The truth is, sharing desserts, whether it’s with family, friends, or significant others has become assumed whenever you get something sweet and I, for one, am pretty GD tired of it.

The thing is, I get why people share desserts. In theory, you already made your way through apps, a salad, a main course, and a few rounds of drinks. By the time you make it to the final course, most people have tapped out. So the two or three gluttonous folks who still have room to shove some more food down their gullets don’t want to seem like the pigs they actually are. What do they do? They suggest sharing a dessert.

It makes sense. You shared the appetizer sampler plate to start off the meal, so why not cap it off by sharing the dessert sampler? That way no one gets the blame for being a fatty but you all get a bite of something sweet. Plus, it’s cheaper to split an $8 slice of cake between two people than to see that bad boy on your credit card statement (and scale the next morning). It makes so much sense, in fact, that ordering a whole dessert for yourself is now basically taboo.

But the thing is, if I’m going to spend my hard earned money and uneaten calories on dessert, I’m sure as shit not going to share some fucking Key lime pie with some mouth-breather who’s going to eat more than half of his/her portion.

Because if we’re being honest, sharing desserts is honestly just for psychos. It’s manipulative. It’s controlling. And it turns something wonderful into a stress-inducing chore.

First, you have to all *agree* on a dessert. How do you do that? The bitchiest, bossiest, or richest person plays whatever card necessary and suddenly you’re agreeing to have a carrot cake mousse even though you’re allergic to carrots. And mousse. Then, once seven other people grab their spoons and pass about the teeny cup, you get about half of a sugar-filled bite. And to be honest, it wasn’t that great, but you realize that one bite isn’t nearly enough. At this point, however, the checks are being passed around, everyone is talking about how stuffed they are, and you’re left with dessert blue balls.

You got a taste. A tease, if you will. But until you get to sink your teeth into the dessert you’re most attracted to, and until you get a monogamous relationship with that dessert (for that night, at least), you’re never going to be satisfied. You’re never going to be happy. Why not order your own scrumptious piece of apple pie and take home the leftovers? You think you’re not going to be happy about that choice two days later when you get home at 2 a.m. drunk out of your mind?

Sure, getting your own dessert is a bold move, but it’s one that needs to happen more. It’s one that needs to take over. Because despite all of your excuses, explanations, and reasoning behind why you’d rather have a just bite of chocolate instead of a whole piece, the honest truth is that sharing desserts is for pussies.

So, let’s just stop it, okay? Let’s just all feel comfortable enough with getting our own desserts, and stop assuming that just because you bought your girlfriend the most perfect piece of chocolate peanut butter cheesecake, it means you get half. It doesn’t even mean you get a bite. It’s time to take sharing off of the dessert table.

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Rachel Varina

if it doesn't have snack or seats, i'm not there.

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