An individual’s relationship with their roommate is an intimate and ancient bond, one that requires constant communication and careful maintenance. Or at least, I thought so.
When my roommate and I used to walk down the street, passersby couldn’t help but stare at us in our domestic bliss. We mischievously snickered at how much better off we were than the rest of our wretched classmates: “Did you hear that Sarah listens to TikTok out loud while Nicole is trying to sleep?” And after a conspiratorial giggle, the other would remark, “Did you know that Ashley’s roommate never does her dishes?” In the evenings we watched movies on her family’s Netflix like peas in a pod, and on the weekends we hummed harmoniously while completing our respective chores. We assured one another that we would never be “those roommates” who lie and betray one another; our connection was ‘too strong’.
But when I reached a hand into my tampon box and found it empty, my world shattered. I could not believe that my beloved roommate would leave me in such a vulnerable and precarious position, pants down in our shared bathroom. And there, in the reflection of my belt buckle, I saw something sinister in my face. I guess people change. Or maybe I never really knew her in the first place.
There comes a time in every young person’s life when they realize they have to start being realistic about their future. That is, in two weeks when my period comes. This month, payback is due. That’s right, I bought the tampons with extra arsenic (in Light, Regular, and Super). Of course, these are mostly for me. But if that treacherous snake of a ‘roommate’ feels entitled to help herself to my feminine hygiene products, revenge will be served (intravaginally).
