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.
3 comments:
signs are meaningless. once my college roommate's friend dropped the end of her lit cigarette onto my 80-year-old handmade by great grandma quilt and then apparently left. fire department had to come. and i had put a sign too, "nobody allowed in my room and especially no smoking in my room" blah blah blah, etc. nobody reads signs.
why don't you comment for me anymore? meanie.
sharing is so overrated.
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