Or, the Story of Why I Live with One Man and One Dog.
Most people blame their need for space on the sibling they had to share a room with growing up. In my case, most of the time my sister, Paula, and I spent together, we were in good spirit playing Barbies or using equal force to harass our younger brother, Matt. It really wasn’t until college that I despised the idea of having to live with a person.
The first person I roomed with in college made the first two quarters complete hell for me. She was messy, I was neat. She would turn on her radio while I was watching reruns of Law and Order on my lunch break. But nothing compared to the perfume.
Early in the morning, my roommate would wake up to get ready for class. Her shuffling around the room never woke me up, rather it was the very last thing she did before she left that would seize me violently from sleep and turn me into a SEETHING, HORRIBLE MONSTER THAT WANTED TO CLAW OFF HER FACE. Okay, maybe not that violent, but the action terrorized my dreams and forced me into rabid fits the rest of the day. The reason for all the animosity?
She sprayed too much Beautiful on herself. And it never cured her of the ugly.
Every single morning she wore spritzed herself with that damn perfume, I shot up from my sleep in a fit of coughs equal to the ferocity of whooping cough. My hacking was reminiscent of a chain smoker attempting a marathon. You cannot possibly write into words the terror that spread in the form of a million tiny little smelly water droplets across my room. It became such an issue for me that I forced my Resident Advisor to settle the issue by making her apply perfume in the hallway. If I was going to have to endure this, so would the rest of the building in close proximity. I am more than sure that RA griped about what a, “bleeping crazy person I must have been.”
Five years later, I’m living in a quaint one bedroom apartment with my boyfriend and our dog. I don’t mind the cologne he wears and he doesn’t mind the one-squirt-limit I have abided to when applying my own scents. The only issue that ever really comes to play regards the bathroom door I always leave open. As I come bounding out, Dave calmly tells me to stop, turn around, and close the door. I hardly think I’ll take action with the property manager over this.