It came to me that something has gone sadly awry as my beautiful roommate, whose dignity and radiant charm are often subjects of my self deprecating envy, is hiding in the refrigerator eating (my) salsa out of a jar with a spoon.
I began to suspect that we had hopelessly underachieved the sweet, young hopes that we once dreamed for our pretty townhouse when I was tip-toeing around in the wee hours of this morning without pants on (sorry boys). Forsaking the iron-clad agreement that I've made with myself to no longer wander our hallway without pants on. It's just not what grownups do, and we have a glass front door (title for a future blog post: "The time a UPS man came to visit and Sam wasn't really dressed: a chilling cautionary tale").
I found myself in a pickle this morning when I woke up with vigorously excited intentions of springing joyfully from my bed, humming a happy morning tune and being dressed by songbirds, finally to emerge into the daylight of "reading day" (known to students as the day between classes and exams meant for studying and not for partying themselves into oblivion). My plan was going flawlessly until I realized that the songbirds had been eaten by my laundry and that on Monday I left my pants behind the couch, leaving me with two options. 1). Remain in my room for the rest of my life, pantslessly 2). Abandon my promise and my pride and go in search of my prodigal shorts. It was not lightly that I chose the latter.
Ordinarily I would have sprinted but I did not want to wake our sweetly sleeping chinchilla by tripping and swearing, so I crept, and crept and crept until I finally found a pair of shorts in the kitchen, where adults often keep their clothes.
Beginning my day this way and ending it with the salsa incident brought me to the realization that the fetching young ladies who had, twelve months ago, taken such pride in their lovely house on Broadmore, who had washed its dishes and entertained its guests with cookies and charm, have deteriorated into confusingly dressed hobos with undefined closet boundaries. Though we hoped by now to be grownup college graduates, lofty in our ways and enlightened in our thoughts, the truth is that we spend a disproportionate amount of our time juggling oranges in the kitchen, primarily when there is calculus homework to be done. And sometimes, when a roommate makes gluten-free taquitos for lunch and leaves them on the counter for more than five minutes, another roommate will steal them and, hiding pajama-clad in the refrigerator, use them to scoop expired salsa from the jar, in a way that will sadly not surprise third roommate, but will cause her to despair in wonder of what we have become.
At least we aren't Joe:
(a rough guide to an ill-fated conversation).
Joe: "Happy Cinco de Mayo, welcome to Macayo's. Are you here to pick up a take out order?"
Cassie: "Yes we are."
Joe: "It looks like your total is going to be $18.50, how would you like to pay for this?"
Sam: "Can we split it please?"
Joe: "Sure thing...(a moment of calculation)...so, $11 on the first card."
Sam: "What? No, can you split the whole cheque in half?"
Joe: Confused. Very confused.
Cassie: "Like $9ish on one card and $9ish on the other?"
Joe: Is pissed. Stomps off to some undefined place for an indistinguishable amount of time, probably to work on his attitude. When he finally returns we can see that he has realigned his lip ring and his mood. "Okay, so you want to split the whole amount in half? Down the middle?"
Sam: "Its like you've known us for our whole lives long, Joe."
Joe: Uses his iphone to calculate what half of $18.50 is. He does not believe the iphone when it delivers the answer. "This can't be right....$9.25?"
Cassie: Busily trying to contact the people who administer genius grants.
Sam: Angry and confused that an iphone would lie so blatantly to poor Joe when all he wants to do is be a better server.
Joe: "Oh no, that is right."
Relief all around.
Until we arrived home to enjoy or celebratory $9.25 lunch:
Sad, disillusioned and emotionally confused.