Dear Luv Doc,
My boyfriend’s roommate is a disgusting pig. He works from home – always in the living room – and never seems to leave. Every time I see him he is wearing the same stained, unwashed sweatpants/sleeveless T-shirt combo and flip flops, even in the winter. Whenever he eats with us he never cleans up after himself, and when he doesn’t eat with us he orders Wendy’s on DoorDash and usually leaves a mess with that too. The last time I came over, I carried two bags of groceries from Central Market up two flights of stairs and I was struggling to keep one of them from rupturing because I had bought ice cream and milk. When I knocked on the door and my boyfriend’s roommate answered it, he swung the door open without greeting me and then went right back and plopped on the couch and resumed watching golf while I struggled to get the groceries from the rupturing bag to the counter. I was furious. After dinner (which he shared) I got out the ice cream for me and my boyfriend and when he tried to help himself to some I said no, because he couldn’t bother to help me when I was obviously struggling to bring it in. He said, “OK, be a bitch.” My boyfriend didn’t say anything. He just stood there and looked uncomfortable. I left shortly afterward and haven’t talked to him since even though he keeps texting and leaving messages saying, “What’s wrong?” Like I should have to explain it to him. Should I? Am I being unreasonable here?
– Being a Bitch
No. You don’t have to explain yourself. The only explanation owed here is why anyone in their right mind would pay to have Wendy’s delivered. That’s a self-inflicted hate crime. That’s like paying a drunk person to come to your house and vomit into your mouth – although, to be fair, drunk person vomit would be more flavorful. From your description it seems reasonable to assume that your boyfriend’s roommate has given up on life entirely. His best use at this point would be as a bioenergy source for robots – you know, like those human battery pods in The Matrix. Despite the Wachowskis’ seeming flagrant disregard for the Second Law of Thermodynamics, metaphorically they were spot-on. If the end result of human achievement is people sitting around eating mediocre cheeseburgers all day, we might as well hook them up to a grid and mine them for energy to power the organisms/machines that are actually getting shit done. It’s what Jesus would want. P sure.
Sweatpants too, (call them “joggers” if you like, but your comically saggy crotch is still waging war on even the most remedial levels of fashion) are a solid indication of a serious mental malady – especially in Austin where, roughly nine months out of the year all pants are sweatpants. Why would any sane human want to exacerbate that problem? Is there ever a point when swamp crotch is not swampy enough? Has anyone ever thought, “Gee, my ball soup could be a little soupier?” Maybe that’s why people move to Houston. I’m fairly sure it isn’t for the catch of the day.
Flip flops are useful for avoiding toe fungus during perambulation from locker to shower, or for protecting one’s soles from hot asphalt on a walk to the pool, but incorporated into daily wear, they indicate a psychotic indifference if not an outright hostility to the aesthetic sensibilities of others. Let’s face it: For a large swath of humanity, Heavenly Father really shit the bed with the whole toes thing. You get the feeling that the seraphim on the human design team brought in a badass concept model with four beautiful, elegant hands, and the almighty, having the faculty of infinite clairvoyance, said, “If we give them four hands, they will eventually just end up eating more mediocre cheesburgers. Give them something they’ll want to truss up with laces.”
But truly, as unforgivable as your boyfriend’s roommate’s slovenly fashion and general untidiness, the fact he didn’t help you when you were clearly in distress is every bit as appalling as him calling you a bitch for not sharing your ice cream. The fact that your boyfriend didn’t immediately defend you when it happened is maybe a sign you need to find a new boyfriend – maybe one who lives on the first floor.
This article appears in June 17 • 2022.
