I came home last night and found two complete strangers camped out on the living room floor. The 15-year-old girl introduced herself as the little sister of my roommate; she then introduced me to her 19-year-old husband who was SMOKIN HOT in a young dumb jarhead kind of way. They were cavorting and laughing and cute as hell in their "we're in love and from the South!" kind of way. (I give them a year).
I excused myself to go to my room with my tatting, my book of common prayer and my cold cold spinster bed.
When I went to brush my teeth, one of them had taken my pump soap from the shower and had evidently been using it.
It was then that I knew what I'd always suspected: I hate to share.
***Update: came home from CT and my New York Times had been broken into and was on the floor of my room. Behind my closed door. A door with a sticky note on it saying "Please just leave my New York times for me. Thank you!" I want to read the New York Times now about as much as I want to be guy 26 in a gang bang.
I talked to my sister and she said to "let it go" so I will; but I won't enjoy it. On the other hand, I just saw a low-flying chevron of Canadian Geese right outside my window.