My boyfriend had a female “meal buddy” at his company. They shared meals year-round with perfectly matched tastes. He ate egg whites while she ate the yolks; he gnawed on chicken feet while she enjoyed the drumsticks; he ate the bottoms of strawberries, she ate the tips. He even brought her along for birthday celebrations. “Tired of work meals, so I brought my little meal buddy for a treat.” When I couldn’t stand it anymore and demanded they maintain boundaries, he patted her head and smiled at me: “Don’t worry, she’s just a meal buddy.” We had a long cold war over this. Later, when he thought I had learned my lesson, he came with flowers, only to be shocked seeing a man peek out from under my blanket, staring coldly at him. He growled with reddened eyes: “Who is he?” Leaning against the headboard, I patted the handsome man’s face beneath me. “Don’t worry, he’s just a bed buddy.”
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