Monday, August 23, 2010

Roommate From Hell

I’ve had a lot of bad roommates in my time. College was a breeding ground for unfortunate room share options, wasn’t it?
There was my freshman year roommate, who was obsessed with Suzy Zoo. Yup, these covered her entire wall. Or, well our wall, since the room was a 10x10 cell.

There was my sophomore year roommate, who was a mute twin on academic probation. Her twin was equally mute and, I think, equally stupid because both of them studied 24/7. They only spoke in whispers the entire time I knew them, and because they were identical, anytime that I had to address something to my roommate, I just spoke to the air above their heads until one mutely nodded their assent.

My junior and senior years I roomed with…well, she was a friend until we lived together for two years. She was a neat freak goody two shoes who never dated the entire time I knew her, and was always in bed by 9:00. Our friendship ended abruptly when she sent a scathing letter to my parents’ house after graduation complaining that I took my phone and left her “without any communication with the outside world.”

All this is to say, those people pale in comparison to the horror that is rooming with Wee ‘Burb. Her and I were thick as thieves the week in Cape Cod, and we had a blast, don’t get me wrong. But as a roommate…well, let’s just say I no longer question the wisdom of not co-sleeping.

She’s like that roommate in college who partied all the time. It was blessedly quiet during the day, you had the place to yourself, and just as you were about to drift off to a blissful sleep, the roommate comes stumbling in, giggling and chatting all night.

That’s Wee ‘Burb.

Just as I fell into bed, weak with relief from making it through a day of constant vigilance and holding and nose-wiping, and talking, and laughing, off she’d go. Usually around 2 a.m. “Daddaddad” followed by quiet. Okay, I can settle in now. Eyes close, body relaxes, “Daddaddad” and then some sort of squawk I can only liken to a pterodactyl. Followed by clapping. CLAPPING! 2 a.m. There’s nothing to cheer about at 2 a.m. Unless you’re my daughter, apparently.

I’ve never been so happy to see her crib.

1 comment:

Small Town Mommy said...

I hate rooming with my children. Although it is better now that they are older. Both of them slept horizontally for years, leaving no room in the bed for anyone else.