I had a hypothesis about what living with you would be like, and it has been proven to be terribly wrong. This hypothesis was that we would exist in both peace and relative cleanliness, with friendship being a possible, but not necessary condition for a good roommate relationship. I based this hypothesis on the assumption that you would be a reasonable human being, possessing some intelligence and a modicum of common sense. This assumption was quite clearly flawed.
I’m certain that I’ve asked you (repeatedly) to not spray perfume in our room, but somehow that piece of information has yet to make it into your brain. If you want everyone within five feet of you to smell like your nasty body spray, that’s fine, but I have no desire to smell like moldy beetroot. I really don’t.
And speaking of mold, that blue stuff growing on your loaf of bread is not edible. I don’t care that you think it’s pretty- it has to go. So does the banana peel you’re saving under your bed for some indeterminate prank. Real life is not like Mario Kart: people do not step on banana peels and fall on their faces. They throw them out.
I thought that this sort of thing was common knowledge. There are days when I wonder what exactly happens in the space between your ears, because frankly, it can’t be much. Remembering to take your keys with you is not a complicated thought process, it’s at about the same level as remembering your phone, and you seem to manage that just fine. If you call me at 3:00am one more time because you’ve locked yourself out again, I think that my brain might melt and pour out of my ears. I am your roommate, not your key lackey. I am also not your study-buddy. We are not in the same program. We’re not even in the same faculty. I can’t help you with your Biology assignment, I don’t know the answers to your Psych quiz and I don’t know where your Calculus class is. The fact that, by this point, you don’t know where to find your Calculus class is, frankly, worrying.
I’ve often wondered if you even go to class because your schedule is posted on the wall and you have just as many class hours as I do, but I never seem to have the room to myself during the day. You’re always there, either sleeping, or eating, or laughing at that inane soap opera you download illegally every week. A little bit of daylight wouldn’t kill you, and it would save me from seeing the horror of your uneven spray-tan. I guess I can’t dictate how much time you do or don’t spend in our room and whether or not you flunk out of your classes is up to you, but that’s not going to stop me from wishing you’d leave for reasons other than partying and the occasional snack run.
I’m sorry that we don’t get along better than this. It’s going to be a long eight months, co-existing with someone who is semi-nocturnal and has questionable cleanliness standards. But, I’m going to make the best of it. You can count on that. I’m armed with noise-canceling headphones, rubber gloves and a jumbo-pack of sanitizing wipes. There will be no bacteria breeding on my side of the room.
And if your body spray mysteriously disappears, then I can’t promise that I didn’t have something to do with it.