Tales of Epic Laziness

I've been really reluctant to do this, since reading about other people's roommate issues is tedious at best, and there's always the tiny chance my roomie or someone she knows might read this, but this one is just too damn funny not to blog about.

Plus, she's decided that one in the morning is a great time to begin learning how to play the fucking guitar, so fuck it.

Now, to really appreciate this story, you have to understand that neither one of us are particularly great at keeping up with the dishes. We've had a few spirited conversations on the matter, with the end result of each little chat being that both of us agree that we need to do dishes more often.

One of us makes an effort to actually do it. The other, not so much.

Case in point: for the last few days, she has left a dirty pot sitting on the stove. It was pretty ridiculously filthy too; she's cooked pasta in it, and dried spaghetti was draped over the edge like some Cthulhoid beastie trying to escape.

Our apartment is old, and has one of those long, thin, odd layouts you often see in old apartments above stores. In ours the kitchen is the first room you enter when you come into the apartment, and the stove is right by the door.

In other words, this disgustingly filthy pot is the first thing you see when you walk in, and it has sat there mocking me for three days.

During those three days I did dishes three times. I've inherited a decent set of dishes and bowls from friends who decided they were finally too good for Ikea and so, as a way to hopefully nudge my roomie towards maybe doing something about the Damnable Pot, I set to work washing the newish dishes and retiring all my old plates and such. That, plus some odds and ends (a different pot, glasses, silverware etc) accounted for three rack loads, done over the space of a couple of days.

No response from the roomie. As I left for work today I sighed quietly to myself, and wished the beastie good luck in its escape attempt.

When I got home, the pot had moved to a different burner, and the beastie was gone.

Oh, it was still dirty, mind you. But now instead of spaghetti remnants, it contained soup leftovers. My roomie, bless her incredibly slovenly and lazy heart, has washed the pot, re-used it, and left it back on the stove.

This was, needless to say, the only dish of any kind she had washed.

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