Do I have "maid" written on my forehead?

I should’ve known what to expect of my new roommates based on the first question Sarah asked me before we moved in together: “Do you have a lot of clothing? Because I do, so I’m going to need a lot of closet space.”

She meant it. Perhaps it is due to my indifference to changing fashion trends (I will always be a cute-top-and-jacket-with-jeans girl), but the volume of her clothing was four times the size of my wardrobe. And those were just the items she brought to college.The other girl turned out to be no different. Both named Sara (one will have an “h” in these stories to help differentiate), both from the same high school, and both shoe-sized 7.5.

Crap. I had been third-wheeled. Stuck with the two best-friends-since-2nd-grade girls.

It was clear that I was not an equal in their eyes, with my middle-class background, lower SAT score, and lack of brand name clothing (as they were quick to point out: “Ohhh, the house you grew up in is totally cute; it’s so small!”, “You never took an SAT course?! Everyone from where we’re from does!”, “Are your D&G reading glasses the only brand you own?”). Though I tried to make the best of it, I couldn’t help but find myself disagreeing with them sometimes, especially over apartment chores. They initially seemed to be open-minded enough, as we did spend a lot of time getting to know each other, talking about TV shows and other chit-chat type things. But then I overheard Sarah on the phone discussing how I often had to ask her to pick up after herself.

“She bitched at me about the messiness of our house and how I drag rocks into the kitchen! She, like, resents me because I have superior taste in fashion or something.”

Yep. I definitely resent Sarah because she wears expensive jeans, and not because of the dialog we exchanged earlier:

“Sarah, are these yours?” I had asked, gesturing toward candy wrappers strewn over the table.

“Um, no,” she said after a long pause.

I tried to laugh off her unconvincing response, “Can you please throw them away?”

“No,” she continued pointedly, “because I know you’ll just do it for me.”

Awesome. I love playing maid to girls from states where throwing away one’s own trash is not encouraged.

The Roommates From Hell

Sometimes, women can blame their foul disposition on PMS, a valid excuse if used sparingly. Then there are the women who exhibit the cranky symptoms of PMS month-long, making life a living hell for any unfortunate soul that steps into the room. They have no excuse, other than being irascible bitches who have very little to do but deride others.

I live with two such women, in an apartment near a university campus. As though life were not dramatic enough, I have to put up with perpetually dissatisfied roommates who take out their unhappiness on those around them, i.e. me. While I am about to rip my hair out in frustration, perhaps you will find the insanity 1. entertaining or 2. outrageous, and then if you ever run into my roommates on the street, you can 1. laugh or 2. punch them in the face.