For the first two years of my college life, I attended the University of Northern Colorado in pursuit of a nursing degree. I decided at the last minute that I was going to switch from the University of North Dakota (see a pattern here?) and go closer to home, and in doing so I was behind in getting everything together. By the time I had gotten all my ducks in a row, I was in one of the last remaining dorms on campus. It was by far the more expensive of the dorms but hey, I didn't have a community bathroom. Which sucked quite a few times when you had to pee and you're roommate was showering.
I remember when my housing assignment came in the mail. I was so excited, I had a roommate. I got the college experience. My roommate and I made plans to meet for lunch one day. I remember being struck by how pretty she was. Sort of like a dark haired Barbie doll. We got along fairly well, even worked out what each of us was going to bring for the dorm. I was in charge of bringing the microwave, coffee pot and a few other odds and ends.
When we finally got settled into our new roles as independent, college students I noticed how very different we really were. I was sort of a home body. I liked to stay at the dorms, study and talk to my (then) boyfriend, who became my husband. Not that I didn't enjoy cutting loose with friends, getting massively intoxicated and running around town really wasn't my cup of tea; for a while anyways.
That first year it was sort of like I didn't even have a roommate. She always slept at her boyfriend's house, was rarely at the dorm. After the beginning of the spring semester, she moved over to the other campus after breaking up with that boyfriend. So I pretty much had an entire room to myself, while paying for only half.
She wasn't by far the worst roommate ever, but I really can't complain...much.
During that year I had another friend that I knew in high school. We got really close and even agreed to get an apartment off campus together with Dennis. We moved in the following August a few days before classes started.
My grandmother had given me the majority of the stuff she had in her house with my grandfather after he passed away, so I offered to bring up my stuff to help furnish the apartment. It sure beat paying storage fees! The three of us lived in a sort of "bliss" for a few months until something, unknown to me, drove Dennis and I apart from her.
Suddenly Dennis and I were having more of these kinds of conversations:
Dennis are there anymore spoons lying around?He motions toward our roommate's closed bedroom door.
No. I found them all. At least the ones we used.
Are you sure? We used to have like 8 of them. Now there are 5.
I don't know, Ash. Maybe they are in her room.
Slowly our spoons started disappearing. One by one. Eventually we only had 4 or so left, so I had to pull out the random spare set my grandmother had always used.
I was completely and totally baffled. I didn't get it. The dishes were hand washed and I had checked every nook and cranny of that apartment that was ours or shared. The only logical explanation:
She's taking my spoons, Dennis.I stick my hand out toward her door once again. It was the only part of the apartment I hadn't looked. I was trying to give her every possible amount of privacy I could. I didn't have any other evidence. In fact it was possible the spoons were somewhere at work but we hardly ever brought our lunches from home, so I wasn't hopeful.
What do you mean 'she's taking your spoons'?
I have searched this apartment high and low, cleaned every possible small surface. They have to be in THERE.
Even now, 4 years later I still don't have a full set of spoons. I think I ended up with 5. And I'm still not 100% sure where all my spoons went.