The hard economic truths of my life (No Dolla$, No Cent$) have made it necessary that I continuously live with a roommate, and I’ve gotten lucky because Megan is a special kind of roommate that cooks for me, allows me to coerce her into afternoon drinking and puts up with my…peculiarities. We’re approaching our five year anniversary, which makes Megan shit her pants, so I’m probably going to send a singing telegram or a stripper in a giant cake to her office to mark the occasion because I’m not afraid of publicly declaring how much I love paying for only half of everything.
These are your options: live with your parents, your significant other, a roommate or no one at all. The last option is frightening indeed, because it means those peculiarities I mentioned above have nothing and no one to keep them in check. Without a human reminder of how weird you actually are, these tics annex the rest of your life. I know this, because Megan has been out of town for five days. Continue reading