"We're gonna need a Clean-Up in Housewares"

Since my mini-meltdown over A COLOR yesterday, I started thinking about really funny things in my life to try and overcome my temporarily bad attitude.

My friend K. got tickled as I was relaying the Color story to her on the phone yesterday. As I was getting ready to tell her the story, she interrupted me and asked, “Is this worse than the wash cloth story?” We both cracked up. I could only respond by telling her that if it didn’t take 1st place, it would definitely take a close 2nd. Brace yourselves!

When I left home to come to college, I had only lived with my family – mostly my mom and my brother. I’ve never been a super-foofooey girly girl, so I kinda knew that college would be an adjustment, but I was truly unprepared to live with any other women besides my mother. My first year, living in the dorm, God showed significant mercy by moving heaven and earth so that I had my own room. Mind you, a lot of people spent the night as it were, but I didn’t have an actual roommate until my third semester. My friend K. had spent many nights with me, and we believed that getting an apartment together off-campus would be easy and fun.

Oh, we were so foolish.

I’m a bit of a control freak, many times about things that are just ridiculous. I’m a nazi with the thermostat, but two decades of bad allergies and one nasal surgery later, it must always be some condition of cool in my house. So basically, I froze K. out, (and nearly every other roommate that I had). Even now when friends come to my house, most will go get a sweatshirt out of my closet.

I’m a bit notorious. Just a bit.

Let me add a much needed detail to this story. I didn’t date anyone until I was 21 years old. I also got my very first kiss on that first date. (It was magical!) This all transpired the summer between my first and second year at Lee. I fell in love and had my heart crushed and to call me an emotional basket case is very nice.

But really, I just was crazy.

Poor K. and I moved into this apartment three days after my first, and very UNWELCOME, break-up. She had no idea what she was in for. I spent a lot of the following three months crying and rehashing my entire relationship with BWW. B-Dub and I talked a lot, and I got my hopes up a lot (they were dashed), resulting in the most ridiculous pendulum of emotions ever. The pinnacle (and the whole point of this little post) occurred somewhere in late October/early November. I had come home from class and Kristen had cleaned the house.

This should not be a big deal, right?

Well, she wiped down our shower with the wash cloth I had used that morning, and threw it in the laundry basket.

Again… this should not be a big deal?

WRONG. I got on the phone with my mom and went into some tyrade about how she didn’t care about me, and didn’t care about my stuff, blah blah blah.

That’s right, a meldown over a cotton-blend 14” square.

Can we say “Code Blue clean up in Housewares”??

K. found spiritual wisdom and promptly moved out six weeks later. We managed to salvage our friendship in light of my maturity, but barely.

Nearly eight years later, we both have the time to laugh about it, but never forget it.