We’re posting this pretty late. I’d like to make a joke about targeting this post at people who forgot until the last minute, but I can’t because every store in the US has been shoving cupid’s arrows into our eyeballs for over a month. (I’m pretty sure we’re only a step away from getting online advertisements reminding us when our anniversaries are.)
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“I’m very busy.”
Her face loomed over mine.
“You’re lying on the floor.”
“Yes,” I said. “I’m helping the fungus on my back flourish.”
She took a step away, but only to prod me with her foot.
“You promised you’d help me write another Valentine’s Day post.”
“Two days ago.”
“That doesn’t sound like me.”
The prodding stopped. A phone appeared. A pink cocktail glowed on the screen.
“Remember that first one we did?”
“Well, halfway through the night you said that you’d help me do another one if I made you a few more drinks.”
“I don’t remember that either.”
But my roommate and I do things differently. I eat pizza on the couch and watch her do P90X. She puts garnishes on bowls of vegetarian tofu-noodle stir-fry, and I drink beer. Valentine’s Day is no different.Read More »
I’d made a nice little pyramid of beer cans on the table, three-stories high and built on a landscape of unfinished statistics homework, and I could only barely see my roommate’s face behind this towering tribute to underachievement. She sat stooped over some thank you cards, signing letters and ambitiously trying to destroy the remnants of her fingernails.
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