I just have a general hate for Thursdays. People who hate Mondays have it all wrong. Mondays are pleasant. Thursdays have it out for you.

Thursdays mean getting up two hours earlier than I normally have to, to go to a class that is three hours long. Thursdays mean having to deal with Boy-thing’s obnoxious face since we have class together. Worst of all, Thursdays mean the most awkward bathroom situation to ever exist. I feel I should explain that our bathroom consists of two rooms: the main room which our two rooms attach to that contains the sinks, then a room for the toilet and shower, referred to as the main room and bathroom respectively.

I’m pretty sure it’s my suitemate’s goal in life to make me feel as uncomfortable as possible when in the main room together. We have this unspoken rule about not speaking in the morning. It’s quite paradoxical.

She insists on wearing a towel as she gets ready in the morning. This is a totally normal behavior. What’s not normal is holding the towel and adjusting it with one hand while you blow dry your hair. I’m no prude, but at 7 AM I seriously don’t care for a reenactment of Janet Jackson at the Super Bowl. With every change of grip, I wince at the possibility. I could look past this if it wasn’t for the fact that there is a perfectly good bathrobe on the door—her bathrobe.

This robe is the bane of my existence. It’s always keeping me from being able to use the bathroom and it’s always there but never used. Actually, I take that back. The one time it was used, it was worn like an evil dress-snuggie hybrid. The top of it was around her chest, with the arms used to tie it around her. I have no remote clue as to why you would ever want to wear a robe in such a way, other than she realized that the whole towel hair-drying situation wasn’t awkward enough.

When I first wake up, there’s nothing I want more than to pee and world peace, in that order. World peace can only be accomplished with an empty bladder. When I come in to use the bathroom and I see that bathrobe on the door, world peace is the very opposite of what I want. At that point, I just want to morph into Godzilla and stomp around and breathe fire until the robe goes away. Why put the robe on the bathroom door? I wasn’t aware our bathroom door needed a doorstop. I would think that the robe would be much more useful if you wear it.

So instead of utilizing her bathrobe for its intended purpose, she’d rather make some kind of rebellious statement about it. Cool, I can respect that. We all have our causes and hers is something related to bathrobes. Alright. All I ask is that if you’re going to make me feel as uncomfortable as you possibly can, can you at least make it quick? Nope. She’s going to try to adjust herself in that towel—or backwards robe—as long as she possibly can. I’m pretty sure that if it takes over 20 minutes to blow-dry shoulder length hair, it’s time to invest in a different hair dryer or a class on how to blow-dry your hair efficiently.

Once again, the intelligent thing to do would be to verbally discuss these issues with my suitemate and resolve them. However, due to our amazing communication, that’s not going to happen. Until I figure out a way to make a post-it note eloquently say, “Please learn how to use your bathrobe and drier, thank you,” I’ll just stick to avoiding the bathroom as long as she’s in it.

  1. anawkwardturtle posted this