I swing my feet down to the floor and slide them into my fuzzy green slippers that make it look like anything below the ankle is a gardening disaster. I stand up and stretch while I walk across the room to the bathroom. I glance over my shoulder, my hand on the door knob of the bathroom, and look at my roommate. She’s sleeping so peacefully with her tongue lolling out of her mouth like a dog and her gut peeking out of the bottom of her too-tight night shirt. Like angel, she sleeps. Like a fat, dirty, hairy angel…with a dandruff problem.
Last night was awful. She’d taken off early on in the afternoon and by seven, I still hadn’t seen her, so I assumed that I’d be alone for the night. Not a problem with me, I didn’t care who she was spending the night with as long as she wasn’t here. We don’t really get along, she and I. She’s of the partying-drinking-drugs variety and I am, well, not.
I don’t think she knew I was in the bathroom last night when she and her friends came in to the room and kept referring to me as “the freak” and “social recluse”. I sighed and waited until they’d left—off to reek some more havoc, I assumed—before coming out. Who knew that studying and actually getting an education made me a loser?
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