Dear Roomie,

you weren't a good one. Despite the constant reminding about bills or rent, things were okay. You always paid. But still, I'm not your mom. Then the repeated hints about the shared cleaning we agreed upon. Whether it was the basic cleaning up after yourself, or shared chores of tidying up the bathroom, kitchen, taking out trash, or vacuuming, you always needed a nudge. I'm not here to hold your hand. I do have problems of my own. All that was stuff I could look past until I started to realize we had nothing in common like I first thought. Did you sell yourself and I bought? I was done in a heartbeat one night with you and your cheese puffs. Not only did you practically eat the whole bag. I don't care that you didn't offer. What was absolutely appalling was you kept chomping down, sucking all your fingers, eating more, touching your phone, and wiping your fingers on your pants and shirt. The same pants and shirt you sleep in your bed with and not wash. Then the big curtain call was when you would use the remote. The same remote I used. The same remote I wondered what the fuck is this crust around the buttons. The other thing is there's no learning these things. It's common sense, and you can't teach or learn that. I wish I could've been out of there that night.