I'm one of those people who typically thinks about events after they've happened and take it in stride while they happen. At this moment in time, all I could think was, Okay, what do I do? Surely I wasn't going to clean up her pee! My thoughts were interrupted when she finally finished peeing out all of the alcohol that wasn't already in her bloodstream. I allowed the appropriate time for her to pull her pants back up before turning to face her.
I found her standing at the foot of my bed, like a mass murderer.
"Erm, what are you doing?" I sang, trying to keep calm. There are many stories out there about sleepwalking roommates turning violent on their roomy and I was not about to be found on our pee-stained carpet the next morning with my roommate lying comfortably, not remembering stabbing me with the kiddy scissors she borrowed from my pencil drawer.
"I just need in bed," her eyes were closed when she answered, and I silently thanked the alcohol god that was controlling her at the time for keeping her eyes closed instead of staring at me.
"Okay. Well your's is over there. This isn't your bed," I told her, trying to be firm but failing miserably. If you know me at all, you know I tend to lack in the being firm department. I avoid confrontation as much as possible. In this case, my meekness was stabbing me in the back.
"I know, I just--scoot over," she told me. I was confused by her sudden change in requests. I wasn't sure what was running through her drunken mind, but she could not for the life of her comprehend that her bed was on the opposite side of the room and that there was no way I was allowing her into mine.
"Just f***in' scoot over," she told me. My mouth went slack at her words. I was shocked into silence, not sure if I should be angry, find it funny, or a combination of both. I'm pretty sure my face resembled hysteria.
"I--no! You can't--it's just--your bed's over there!" I finally let out, but my nervous stuttering didn't seem to register with her. She kept telling me to scoot over and let her in. Every demand, she changed from tipsy laughing to drunken yelling, the cuss words kept coming, and I was sitting in my bed, going over various ways to deal with this situation. Finally, I took action and (gently) pushed her towards her own bed.
This initiated another round of cuss words. By this point, I was more angry than anything and just wanted her to go to bed.
"I'm not going to let you in my bed!" I could not believe this was coming out of my mouth. "Your bed's over there!"
She looked like a sullen child (who was definitely not using any childish words) when she turned to her bed and threw her covers, finally hopping in.
The F-word was muffled as she drifted back to sleep.
Alexis
I found her standing at the foot of my bed, like a mass murderer.
"Erm, what are you doing?" I sang, trying to keep calm. There are many stories out there about sleepwalking roommates turning violent on their roomy and I was not about to be found on our pee-stained carpet the next morning with my roommate lying comfortably, not remembering stabbing me with the kiddy scissors she borrowed from my pencil drawer.
"I just need in bed," her eyes were closed when she answered, and I silently thanked the alcohol god that was controlling her at the time for keeping her eyes closed instead of staring at me.
"Okay. Well your's is over there. This isn't your bed," I told her, trying to be firm but failing miserably. If you know me at all, you know I tend to lack in the being firm department. I avoid confrontation as much as possible. In this case, my meekness was stabbing me in the back.
"I know, I just--scoot over," she told me. I was confused by her sudden change in requests. I wasn't sure what was running through her drunken mind, but she could not for the life of her comprehend that her bed was on the opposite side of the room and that there was no way I was allowing her into mine.
"Just f***in' scoot over," she told me. My mouth went slack at her words. I was shocked into silence, not sure if I should be angry, find it funny, or a combination of both. I'm pretty sure my face resembled hysteria.
"I--no! You can't--it's just--your bed's over there!" I finally let out, but my nervous stuttering didn't seem to register with her. She kept telling me to scoot over and let her in. Every demand, she changed from tipsy laughing to drunken yelling, the cuss words kept coming, and I was sitting in my bed, going over various ways to deal with this situation. Finally, I took action and (gently) pushed her towards her own bed.
This initiated another round of cuss words. By this point, I was more angry than anything and just wanted her to go to bed.
"I'm not going to let you in my bed!" I could not believe this was coming out of my mouth. "Your bed's over there!"
She looked like a sullen child (who was definitely not using any childish words) when she turned to her bed and threw her covers, finally hopping in.
The F-word was muffled as she drifted back to sleep.
Alexis
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