Pile-up Tears

My senior year roommate hated doing dishes. Either I did all of them (hers and mine), or they didn’t get done. One week, after the dishes were piled high in the sink, on the counter, on the table, and carrying over into the living room, I gave her an ultimatum: I would not do any of my dishes until she did all of hers. She complained but then agreed to do them the next day after she returned from her student teaching job.

I had choir rehearsal that day and came home well after dark. She wasn’t home, and the dishes weren’t done. Assuming she had a meeting, I went into my bedroom to work on a paper.

When she came back, she announced, “You HAVE to come see the totally cute shoes I bought!”

She explained to me that she’d come home after teaching, watched some TV, and then decided to go out for some retail therapy, where she’d bought dance shoes and a number of other useless items. She was in high spirits until I asked, “What about the dishes?” At this point, she burst into tears.

“I’m tired and I have a cold!” she wailed. “I was at school all day and I just wanted to have some fun and you are ruining it! I just want to go to bed now!”

I gave her an hour to do the dishes before I put them in her bed. That when she finally did them.