After working in food service for so long, I developed a philosophy of not cleaning up after anyone. I take responsibility for my own mess, and I expect that people do the same for their own mess.
That blob of peanut butter still sits on the kitchen counter, in the shadow of a bottle of all-surface cleaner and a roll of paper towels.
C---bag whore has been bugging me about getting the bolts for my table. I am going to conveniently just keep "forgetting" until she starts keeping the kitchen clean. Because if she won't clean the counters, which are plastic and are attached to the apartment, then she probably won't clean the table, which is wood and moves with me to new houses.
I have informed my parents that I will not be living here next year, and that I am not having a roommate, either.
Dad: "Wait, she eats out of your glasses?!"
Me: "YES!!! I have plenty of bowls, and she eats out of my water glasses."
Dad: "Well it's not harming them..."
Me: "Yes it is! She's scraping up the inside with the fork!"
Dad: "Well whatever, we'll get you new dishes."
Me: "I don't want new dishes. These are 12 oz. water glasses. They are for drinking out of. I searched for months for this specific type of glass, and she is ruining them!"
"C---bag whore," by the way, is my new pet name for that inconsiderate cave-dweller who lives in my apartment and eats bean sprouts from my water glasses and puts my plastic travel tumblers and my acrylic cups on the bottom rack of the dishwasher and doesn't scrub her egg residue from the pans OR the spatula and has never cleaned a counter in the two months she has lived here.
I can't study here, knowing what is growing in the kitchen. The Costco pizza box is the cleanest surface in there.
(16:02:35) Me: bitch is costing me money
(16:02:46) Me: because i can't study in my own house
(16:02:48) Boyfriend: bitches tend to do that
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