sighted – p. diddy
I’ve made no secret of the fact that I have problems sharing. I’ve already talked about how I won’t share my bathroom. Or my water bottle. Have I mentioned I go into an apoplectic fit when Maya’s Zhu Zhu pets find their way onto my desk? Or when Ali sits in “my” chair at the kitchen table?
I realize I have issues. Many issues. But really, who cares? Because to be honest, I feel like I’ve earned the right to be selfish. Why? Well because I’ve had a child. I’ve had a child! And as far as I’m concerned, nothing Maya or Ali does can compare to that.
(As an aside – I use this justification all the time. It works.)
One thing I’m surprisingly unselfish with is my car. Ali drives my car to work regularly (must.preserve.miles.on.ali’s.car) which is usually okay. Sure I wish he didn’t leave his crap in my ashtray. And I’m not thrilled he fiddles around with my seat settings. But for the most part it’s okay.
Or it was. Until I saw this:
So you’re probably thinking – Jeez Ameena, what’s the big deal? So maybe you have to filter through a bit of P. Diddy (who I saw at Houston’s a few days ago – he is truly impressive in person) before you can get to your own songs. Is it really a crisis that Ali uploaded his eclectic music tastes? Do you have to blow everything out of proportion?
To answer your questions – yes and yes. Today it’s just my car radio and sure, I can skip over a little bit of Mace with minimal effort. But tomorrow? Tomorrow he might eat my gluten-free scones or dare I say it? Take over my closet.
Really, is nothing sacred anymore?