That's because you are responsible for yourself.
Once in a while, though, there's a certain class of people who won't let one be responsible for oneself.
Back when I was just out of high school and into college, I spent about six weeks each of two summers in Springfield, Massachusetts, with friends of an aunt of mine.
An ancient Italianate couple, he a physician, she a typical.....older Italianate housewife.
She worried about me constantly, because I was then a newly-minted orphan, and supposed I needed lots and lots of maternal loving--which in this case was tons and tons of Italianate cuisine.
I assured her I was fine, that a hamburger well-done, pressed down hard on the grill so as to squeeze out every drop of grease, French fries done on the stove-top, and a side dish of sour cream, was all I wanted.
But no, she insisted I needed "better" than that, and constantly made this Italianate delicacy or that Italianate delicacy. She probably had a cookbook bigger than even the adroit sparkling old dude's.
With onions and peppers and mushrooms and dead fish in it.
Always. At times, I suggested I'd eat it, if she didn't put this stuff in it, but she insisted it all
had to be in it.
One day, she insisted, "You don't like my food."
To the contrary, I insisted; the bread and butter were very good, and it was hard to beat the coffee and milk.
It was an awkward situation; I was still a raw teenager, and hadn't yet learned all the social graces. At this point, all I'd learned was to be impeccably polite, and especially to my elders, nothing more. I really disliked displeasing her, but on the other hand, she was really pushy.
Well, the couple was pretty old at the time--and as rich as Croesus--and it's been years and years since they both went to God. I hope that when she arrived, God explained to her that franksolich was very appreciative of all she did for him, humbly grateful, but there's such a thing as being.....too pushy.
