Picture six year-old me, walking back to her house with a pillowcase full of freshly acquired Halloween candy. For most kids, the night of Halloween is a time to stuff their faces with all the candy their parents will allow. For me, it is a night full of giving all the candy to my sister. No, it is not due to coercion or even a clever trick she plays. I willingly give my to candy to her precisely because of one factor: my picky eating habits.

Yes, it is true. I admit it: I am a picky eater. I always have been. I always will be. Whether it is ordering pasta with sauce on the side or ordering chicken noodle soup with “no chicken, no carrots, and no noodles,” I definitely consider myself to have a limited palate.

As hard as this is on the waitstaff that has to accommodate my unique eating habits, it is also pretty tough on me. For instance, when my friends ask me to split a meal, I start to panic and run through the steps. First, I have to explain to them all of my “restrictions,” and then shamefully tell them that it’s not allergies, it’s simply that I despise many foods. Most friends understand, but some just can’t comprehend how I can live without the carrots, chicken and noodles.

This is no different on the night of Halloween, and it has not been different ever since I could remember. For most kids with “normal” taste buds, Halloween is a night where Hershey’s Bars seem more like bars of gold. For me, however, it’s a night where I carry around a heavy pillowcase for my sister’s appetite rather than my own.