ode to Roomie

“Wow, I think Jesus put together your housing assignment.”  

Some comedian said this when Roomie and I went to see her show during our freshman year of college and admitted (in response to some sort of audience participation question, I’m sure) that we were randomly assigned freshmen roommates and also best friends.

So tomorrow, I am helping my best friend in the whole world move away from me again. I briefly considered the fact that I should not facilitate this process. But then she would just have replaced me and still left. So I’m helping Roomie move to DC tomorrow, and then we both start new jobs on Monday. Because she is actually my secret evil twin, and our lives seem to run oddly in parallel like this.

She has to be the evil twin because she swears a lot and hates people 90 of the time.

I also hate people about 80 percent of the time too, but I try to keep it a secret. Except when I’m around Roomie; then I’m allowed to be as antisocial as I want. One Saturday morning recently, we were both in the kitchen with each other for a good 15 minutes and didn’t say anything more than “good morning” to each other. Eventually Roomie asked whether I minded her turning on the TV while she did chores.

“No, that’s fine.  I thought we were being awfully quiet this morning, but I didn’t really have anything to say to you.”

“Good. I didn’t have anything to say to you either.”

End of interaction for the morning.

Roomie leaving is not really the end of the world, since she’s only moving an hour away. It’s much less traumatizing than when she moved out on me to transfer schools after freshman year, because I can still see her pretty much whenever I want. But who am I going to watch reruns of Property Brothers with on Friday nights? Who will feed me nachos during football season? I need somebody to remind me to text my Mom on her birthday and tell me what I meant to get at the grocery store when I’m too incompetent to write it down.

I also won’t be able to mask my continual lack of a boyfriend by bringing Roomie as my plus one at all of L’s grilling parties and other social functions. Probably that wasn’t a good cover. Probably it just made many of my friends suspected that I was a secret lesbian. Oh well, let them wonder.

Do I have to stop calling her Roomie in these blog posts? I never really stopped referring to her that way since the day we met, but it might be confusing to new blog readers.


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