The silliest fight I have had with someone was about leftover Chinese takeout. It was a snowy day in Boston, and I had just spent the past six hours listening to my professors babble on about who knows what. The entire day, I could not stop dreaming about the leftovers sitting in my mini-fridge, just waiting to be devoured.
I walk into my dorm room to the smell of hot-and-sour soup, chow mein, and roasted vegetables. Sitting on the sofa was my roommate, the takeout thief, eating my Gourmet China House leftovers. To top it off, she was drinking a glass of my cabernet sauvignon and had the audacity to ask, “Would you like some?” Instead of addressing the situation in a mature way, I stormed off and moved out the following week. To be fair, we did have unaddressed issues. The chow mein and cabernet were the last straw.
But come on, wouldn’t you be a little riled up, too?
The thing is, I am an only child. This was my first time ever sharing a room, let alone a suite and one bathroom with seven other girls. Growing up, my parents never touched my food, used my skincare products, or borrowed anything of mine without asking. So, when I decided to leave home and trek across the country for school, I was not prepared for the army of girls rummaging through my makeup bag, tearing apart my closet, and poking around in my snack drawer.
