I split a mango

I am not good at sharing fruit. When I buy a quarter of a watermelon, I don't take it home and cut it into cutsie little slices like it's a picnic, I place the entire quarter on a plate and that is my lunch. I have discovered many new fruits since making the move to South America, and each time I come home with a plastic bag full of my latest supermarket find, Dave is lucky if he gets a half, a section, a bite.

Today when the 4pm snack time pangs hit I went to the kitchen and started to cut up a mango, my first since returning to Brazil after a month-long absence. As I started to suck the sweet orange flesh out of its skin I had a thought, "Dave might like some mango." Before I knew what I was doing I found myself cutting half of the mango into neat little cubes over a bowl and then covering the bowl with plastic wrap and putting it in the fridge.

Since I got married (two and half weeks ago) many people have asked me if I feel any different, and my answer, each and every time, has been, "No, not really." The next time someone asks me I'll finally be able to say, "Yes." I split a mango.