Roommates, Part IV. The Winter of ____

I tend to really hold grudges. When I get the chance to be super pissed about something, it’s like a warm soft blanket made of super glue that I snuggle into and then am caught in interminably.

The best part about holding a grudge is bringing it up every single time that your transgressor is mentioned until all your friends get sick of hearing about it. Then, if you have no filter, and you keep bringing it up, the grudge eventually cycles around to being totally hilarious. You have to be careful though. Getting to the comedy takes time, patience and an immunity to the annoyance level of everyone around you.

My favorite grudge I’ve ever held is against a sublet of mine. I got a job in Florida and went away for a few months. In an effort to avoid paying unnecessary rent, I found a girl I thought my roommates could live with; let’s call her ____. She was pretty bland; fairly religious, but in a liberal way; tall and nice. I knew the Russian Silver Fox and Gigi would be able to handle her.

Three months later, I arrive back in New York. Gigi has moved in with her fiancé, so ____ had decided to stay an extra month in Gigi’s room. ____ was not quite as benign as we had all originally thought. She smoked a little weed and was a compulsive baker, even going so far as to hide baking supplies under her bed. Not weird at all. Thank you, ____ for luring the mice into our bedrooms.

When ____ left, she took a blue towel of mine with her. She said she was taking it so she could wash it. I obviously never saw that towel again. But it cost $5 at Target, so I wasn’t too upset about it.

About a week went by and I noticed the bottom sheet from my pastel yellow Ralph Lauren T-shirt sheet set was missing. That is a big hell no in my book. Steal my stupid towel if you must, but taking my one nice sheet is going way too far. I politely Facebook messaged her asking if she might have seen my sheet, perchance. She had not. And no word on the towel.

I complained about my sheets to the ends of the earth. How I could have had a restful night’s sleep if not for missing my perfect sheets. How I would never find a bottom sheet that soothed my soul like that one. How ____ was a treacherous, linen thief. I believe there was mention of her mother and grandmother. ____ was a horrible bitch who deserved to sleep in hair shirts and sheets of fire and thorns.

About six months after the criminal’s departure, Silly Squirrel and Awesome Opossum came for a visit. We’d tried to squeeze into my double bed before, but finally came to the conclusion that three was not the magic number. Silly Squirrel likes her space, so she agreed to sleep on the futon. We opened it up and lo and behold, there was my yellow fitted sheet.

I still haven’t gotten my blue towel back.


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