Leftover ( Restaurant continued)

No way can I eat somebody else's leftover even if I am the one ordering the dish.

You see, when I eat, I want the entire plate for myself, and I do not allow another man touching any bit of my food.

Once upon a time, Chef Winnie prepared a nice and delicious dish for me to savour. It's a really nice dish with so many flavours in it, with so many ingredients in it (including my favourite salmon and maple syrup), and the serving is so big that it is meant to be eaten in a span of decades so I only ate a little bit every day since the day Chef Winnie delivered the dish to my table.

Sometimes when I saw an ingredient that I didn't like, I would still try to swallow or add some other spice to make it taste better. I just didn't want to throw out the parts of the ingredients that I didn't like. Well, in Chinese tradtion, one shall not waste food.

Sometimes the food tasted good, and sometimes the food tasted bad, but I didn't mind because the good tastes beat the bad tastes, or because I could always find some other spices to neutralize the bad tastes.

One day I suddenly realized that Chef Winnie put something that I could not stand in my plate. I didn't worry about that either. I just moved it to the side of the dish, thinking that I would come back to this part later when my tasting buds would probably change. I just picked that parts that I enjoyed first. However, I started to find more and more ingredients that I could never swallow in the dish since then.

Then some time ago, when I hadn't touched the dish for several days and had left the dish unprotected somewhere out of my control, some uninvited starving gipsy man barged in and took a bite with his dirty hands of my treasured food, leaving as he withdrew his hands traces of dead skin in the plate. When I went back to my table, that hooligan was still sitting at my seat, occupying my table, drooling my leftover. Only now it had become HIS leftover.

I shot my angry eyes at Chef Winnie, demanding an explanation. He just shrugged, and said nothing, as if the restaurant did not guarantee that the customer could finish his own dish entirely without interruptions, as if thieves and robbers were allowed into the restaurant, and as if all I could do was to find ways to share the dish (if I want to and if the hooligan want to, too), or win the dish back, or order another one.

Another man's leftover? With his saliva and god-knows-what gooey stuff mixed in?

I don't know if the almighty Chef Winnie is able to purge it or clone another one for me... I don't know... I don't know... I don't know... and I still don't know...

I want a dish composed of:
Around My Age/ Gym Build(Athletic, if the ingredient is lacking)/ Bachelor's Degree or Above/ English/ Chinese/ Good Profession/ Simple Life/ NO smoking / Movie/ Music/ Romantic/ Traveling/ Hiking/ Beach/ HOT/ Faithful/ Honest/...etc.

Maybe I am a dish for someone too. Who will order me? Now that I am partially eaten.

...