Don’t date the monster under your bed
Dating a roommate never goes well. So why did I think this was a good idea?
Michael's been my roommate since his girlfriend kicked him out and I heard him sulking beneath my bed. At first I assumed he was one of those murdering rapists your mother warns you about, so I greeted him with a can of mace and various empty threats of my large husband coming home any minute. In return he cowered, covering his single eye and begging for mercy. After an astute observation, I realized he was just a heartbroken fool, and reluctantly agreed when he asked to stay for the time being.
Things took a turn from there. My first clue should have been that he insisted on sleeping on the floor of my room instead of on the couch that I'd prepared for him. I ignored his promises that he'd be respectful and began to sleep with brass knuckles just in case.
The next clue came from watching a romantic comedy with him one night - one which I can't sit through without laughing so hard that I cry. I noticed him staring at me, and my jaw hit the floor - he was fucking master-bating to my laughter! The movie abruptly ended, as did his nefarious activities after I beat the shit out of him.
Later, once I'd calmed, he asked if I'd consider a date. Before I could disagree, he shoved me in my closet. In the middle of a fucking blizzard.