I sent an e-mail to Laura this morning entitled, “I live in a fucking frat house.” Allow me to count the ways:
Not only do I live with a straight man AND possess a moral-free, burrito buddy/platonic life partner, but when my brother is in town, suddenly my world is an episode of Home Improvement. There’s way too much testosterone at 916A. Last night, I made those bitches (fabulous) dinner, cleaned up, and listened to them discuss how to avoid women. I also learned that any guy I express any interest in is a “fag” and that no matter how much I express a need for respect and consistency, I will be instantly abandoned for remote possibilities of sex.
I was actually physically restrained while they took over my computer and sassed my friends online. When I requested that someone take the recycling out, the phrase “Later, woman!” echoed through the halls. Oh, and belching at the dinner table? Standard.
I love these three like nothing else. Love isn’t even a big enough word. These men mean the world to me.
But right now, I’m outnumbered. And I’m planning a revolt…