Double your pleasure, live alone

By Emily Hoover

My roommate told me that he had friends over while I was gone. This much, I expected. I didn’t expect him to sweep or do dishes, which he didn’t. When I came back to Lincolnville, my world looked the same—swampy. My house looked the same—train wreck. I called my boyfriend to vent about my roommate’s lack of chivalry and hopped onto my bed. I felt tranquil for a moment, until I noticed a piece of chewing gum on my headboard. Shrieking, I rose, movements unearthing an open condom wrapper from unmade sheets. He would do those dishes, damn it!

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