To the infamous Second Semester Roommate:
We’re coming up on the one-year anniversary since we first met, and I’ve been doing a little reminiscing about our time together. Remember how you never left our room? Remember how you would carry on excruciatingly loud phone and Skype conversations for hours at a time? Remember how you always smelled like a baby prostitute? Ah, what memories we shared.
I think my favorite moment would be that one time I came home and you had a guy in your bed. I could have done without you both just hanging out naked when I walked through the door, but at least he was nice enough to hit on me while you slept next to him. He looked like a cartel leader-slash-drug lord, yet neither of you even offered me drugs or dirty money. Rude.
There was also the time you walked in on me changing. You held the door open for just enough time to allow several residents of Three East to get a good look, and the friend you were with really got to meet me on a personal level. I yelled at you, but you played it off so cool by changing the subject and accusing me of lying about not having hairspray for you to borrow. I'm glad you had the persistence to defend the real issue there, especially when I caught you going through my drawers a couple of days later in an unsuccessful attempt to find it. Joke's on you, I really didn't have hairspray.
But you know what, Roommate?
I may have never known your name, and I may have said some really mean things when you intentionally locked our suitemates out of the bathroom, but I’m grateful to you. Every night I was practically forced to sleep on the couch at my sorority house just to escape your snores, I grew closer to each and every girl in my chapter. You taught me how to appreciate normal human beings...human beings that don’t read through other human beings’ texts while they’re in the shower.
So I wish you the best, Roommate, I really do. May your orange feather earrings always match your fur vest.
xox,
Anna
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