I’ve always hated sharing. This is illustrated by two stories from my childhood:
1) When I was 4, I found a penny. My mom told me I should put it in the poor box at church, and then explained the virutes of being selfless and helping out the less fortunate. I listened to her, and when she was done replied with “Let the poor people get their own penny. This one’s mine.”
2) When my sister and I were about 5 and 6, our parents had gone food shopping and had bought us each a yogurt (apparently we’d not had it before, because at the time it seemed exotic and exciting). My sister had strawberry and I had raspberry. She offered me a taste of hers, which I gladly accepted. Then she asked for a taste of mine. I told her to smell it, which she did, and then I told her, “It tastes just like it smells” and continued eating.
To this day, sharing is still not one of my favorite things. I am not a big food sharer (unless there is a pre-determined plan to order multiple items and split, but even then it depends on the people, because some people take too much), and I still have a hard time even sharing stuff with my husband (i.e., the “good” shampoo, my dark chocolate bars from Trader Joe’s, etc.). And, yes, I am aware that this trait is irrational, childish and kind of rude, so even though it makes me cringe inside, I’ll still let people try some of my dinner at a restaurant, but I am not likely to try their food in return. I am no hypocrit.