In my head, this
made sense-for me to get ready at the crack of dawn (exaggeration) and let the
two other girls take over the bathroom, but really, I was avoiding them. I was
avoiding fighting over the bathroom, true, but I was also avoiding eating
breakfast with them. At 6am, I brushed my teeth, brushed my hair, applied a
thick double-layer of chapstick, shaved my unibrow (to make myself feel fancy),
and grabbed my cereal from the shared kitchen to take to my own single bedroom.
I also tried avoiding the cats, who would hopefully be sleeping on the floor
instead of grabbing at the bottom of my pant leg (since I am short and normal
pants are not.) One of the two cats was a girl, so I still consider this me avoiding
girls.
I liked Tristan,
the boy-cat, better. I thought he had more character. My boyfriend liked
Tristan's sister best. My boyfriend is a moron. His judgment doesn't matter.
Back to the
story: I was avoiding the girls I chose to live with for a whole year.
Sometimes, out of curiosity about that elusive female-species, I would watch
Roommate 1 finally get ready before the class she chose to attend, after I came
back from my first class. She did up her hair, and put on eyeshadow. Then she
put on eyeliner. Then she might clip her nails or paint them. She painted her
lips and brow as well. She applied something to her cheeks to make them a
glowing red (I don't know what this something is, because I am bad at being a
girl.) And I would just stare at her, taking 3 hours to get ready for the day,
while she talked about yesterday. I wondered how she even had time to enjoy yesterday. When did she
even finish applying yesterday's make-up!? Who the fuck has time for this!? I
am not famous, I don't have a stylist who can do this for me while I do my
homework or anything.
One day,
Roommate 1 was driving me in her car. I was in the passenger seat, and my
boyfriend was minding his own business in the backseat. Maybe he was sleeping.
Maybe he was playing his Nintendo. Maybe he wasn't there and I didn't notice
the difference because I am bad at being a girl-friend as well. Whatever, a
different story.
Roommate 1 was
telling me about her day, while retouching her make-up in the car mirror. She
could multi-task (which I learned in college isn't actually a thing. Perhaps
she would've learned this too if she attended her classes.)
Roommate 1 was complaining
about her mom favoriting her younger sister again (which her mom did often),
and about how another guy just stopped texting her out of the blue (which
happened a lot. I never understood why this actually happened so much. Not only
was Roommate 1 better at being a girl, but she was better at being a
girl-friend. She would sew and knit her boyfriends custom gifts. For her last
serious boyfriend, she bought a polo and sewed Darth Vader in the corner, and
she was in the process of embroidering a shirt with an image of his favorite
Dr. Who for his birthday when they broke up. I just don't have the time for
that shit.)
Then, she told
me, on top of that, her Aunt Flo was
in for a visit. Roommate 1 rolled her eyes.
Me: "Oh, do
you not like your aunt?"
Roomate 1 shot
me a glance. "What?"
Me: "Your
aunt."
Another glance.
I wished she would watch the road.
Me: "Do you
not like your aunt?"
Roommate 1:
"My Aunt Flo!?"
Me: "Yeah.
Is she a bitch?"
Roommate 1:
"My period?"
Me: "Oh.
Oh. . . . I thought you had an aunt named Flo. Like the Progressive lady. Like
she was your aunt."
Apparently, I am
so bad at being a girl, I don't know how to name my periods. Thanks a lot,
stupid Progressive commercials, for making the name Flo a thing!
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