How Abby Became a Mean, Nasty Witch

Tonight I ran out of tolerance. It's sad, I will have to be racist, sexist, homophobic, bigoted, and prejudiced against people who mispronounce the names of states until my July stock of tolerance comes in. Sad, but true.

How does this happen? you might wonder, Abby usually has a surplus of tolerance, enough to share.

Well, you may have heard that my housemate (and technically my landlord), Robert, is sort of.... difficult to get on with. Anyone who has seen any room I've ever lived in can sympathize with Robert of course, I'm next to impossible to live with. I'm dirty and lazy, I don't wash dishes for weeks, I do my laundry even less often and my closet is on my floor. I lose my keys/shoes/cell phone with amazing frequency because, well, I'm a mess.

Usually.

Lemme layout my impact in Canada. After about 18 hours of living with Robert it became apparent that he was obsessive compulsive. So I have made a special effort to minimize my affect on his world. I do my dishes every night. The longest any dish sits in the sink is from breakfast until I was them after dinner- when I wake up early enough to eat breakfast. This is usually one small plate, a knife and a fork. Not unreasonable. I dry all the dishes and put them away immediately.

The only belongings I leave in the kitchen is one pair of shoes, under the counter near the door where they are not a tripping hazard.

The remaining rooms of the first floor house my dvd collection- two cd cases on an end table in the corner of the living room by the dvd player. I could keep them in my room, but I like to share.

I have a drawer in the bathroom where I keep my soap, toothbrush, toothpaste, etc. and I have shampoo and stuff in the shower.

That's it. Nothing else is out of my room. My room is of course an epic disaster, but my door is always shut and locked.

I know. It sounds completely impossible. It has been really hard for me.

Is this effort appreciated? No, not really. Not at all actually. There's just always something. Like I should always use the fan over the stove, and I can't park in the driveway. But today, I've been pushed over the line.

This morning Robert got up at the crack of dawn (usually he doesn't get up until after I leave) to interrogate me about the locations of a red bucket and a coffee mug. The mug I was guilty of hoarding, it got carried to my room sometime over the weekend and I just keep refilling it in the bathroom because I'm too damn lazy to go all the way downstairs. The bucket I'd never seen before. Though I readily admitted my guilt in the mug case he seemed convinced I'd stolen his bucket. What the hell do I want with a bucket? Also, how did he know I had the mug? We have at least 8 coffee mugs for the two of us. Does he do a weekly inventory?

So tonight I'm in the living room, watching My Name is Earl on my laptop when Robert comes home. There is a wicked electrical storm going on, so I have the blinds in the living room all the way open so I can watch.

Robert enters. 'What happened in here?'
Me: 'What happened to what?'
R: 'The...' He points to the blinds, he struggles sometimes with the english. 'What happened?' He reaches for the cord as lightning flashes outside.
Me: 'Wait! I pulled them up, I was watching the lightning. Have you seen this storm?'
Robert is still poised to draw the curtains. 'Oh yeah. But you can watch with them down.'
Me: 'Its lightning! Its so fun, I wanted to be able to really see it. Don't put down the curtains, I'll pull them when the storm is over.'

Robert reluctantly leaves. For almost 3 whole minutes. Then he shoots back into the room straight to the curtains and yanks them down.

Me: 'Hey! I am still watching the storm!'
Robert: 'No, its dark out, you close the curtains when its dark.'
Me: 'I know, but it isn't even dark out yet and I just told you I was watching out there.'
R: 'No, if they are open it looks like there are no curtains. What if someone came by and thought they would rent here, but oh, there are no curtains.'
Me: dead silence. I'm trying to process that. Do people really choose housing based on outside visibility of window coverings?
Robert now twists the little thing so not only are the blinds down, they are a wall.
Me: 'Well can't you at least leave them turned so I can see?'
R: 'No.'
Me: 'Are you trying to be mean to me? Can't you just leave one turned up?' There are three windowshades after all, one open would be enough!
R: 'No, its dark. I close them when its dark out. See I closed the ones in the other rooms. You can go outside if you want to see.'
Again I'm trying to work out how this makes sense. First of all, I'm not looking out any of the other windows. Second, I'm pretty sure the purpose of shades is to keep light out, so closing them when its dark is retarded. Third, its pouring effing rain outside and there's lightning. It seems dangerous to venture out.
So I spend the next 5 minutes debating with Robert the purpose of shades, the likelihood a potential renter is going to wander by in this storm, whether or not this renter would be more swayed by the presence of curtains than the presence of a cute girl, the chances of me being struck by lightning should I go outside, and whether or not he is actually doing this for the sole purpose of torturing me. Finally, he goes here: 'They are my curtains and I say they are close.'

Yep. They are your curtains, and you own the house. You're a big man now. And then he freaking goes into the basement for the next 3 hours.

So that's it. Don't cross me. After that whole exchange I didn't open the blinds or kick him or anything. But it used up every last bit of my kindness. Beware.