Spotless

My roommate is in one of those cleaning moods. You know, where suddenly you’re furious at the sight of mess, and you have to clean your room top to bottom and blahblah. I rarely get in these moods, being the disgusting bitch that I am, but I definitely know the feeling. The problem is when your roommate (or you) are in one of those moods, but you (or your roommate) are not. That’s basically my life right now. I tried to cooperate and shift a couple things around and whatnot to appease her, but she seemed to be in such a cleaning trance that she wanted to do everything by herself. So now I’m hiding in the laundry room of this building….

I gotta say, I like my roommate. In order for me to really like person they have to 1) eat breakfast, 2) like Brigadoon, and 3) respect Little House on the Prairie. I don’t know if she’s heard the Gospel of Brigadoon, but I can say that she eats breakfast regularly and, like me, would probably eat breakfast for all three meals of the day if it were socially acceptable. And also when she saw that I had one of the Little House books with me, she picked it up and exclaimed in French with pure happiness and excitement, “Ah! THE LITTLE HOUSE ON THE PRAIRIE!” So even if she’s in a psychotic cleaning trance, I’m still glad I’m living with her.

Also, it’s probably good for me to be living with a person who makes me kind of ashamed of my mess, because whenever I live with like-minded people (i.e. geniuses!) it usually gets pretty narsty. I remember one summer I shared a tiny room with an equally messy girl, and we managed to lose a pizza in our room. Yes, a full pizza, in a box. Freshman year of college I lived another equally gross girl and our room had legendary mess. Towards the end of the year (almost 9 months later) we decided we should probably vacuum, so we borrowed a vacuum from a neighbor. Then we realized that there was nothing to vacuum, since the floor was covered in our shit. We couldn’t be bothered to move our stuff, so we just sort of let the vacuum sit in our corner for weeks, and eventually it became like our version of a coat rack until eventually our neighbor asked for her vacuum back. Sophomore year of college I lived with another messy girl, and while the mess wasn’t as epic as the year before, I do remember having to literally climb a pile of laundry to get to my bed on the top bunk. This girl’s laundry was my ladder.

So, by my standards, I am living in a spotless palace nowadays.