Bee: There's never any usable soap on your bathroom sink. And this leads me to believe that nobody ever washes their hands in your bathroom.
Bee is convinced that the soap chips that litter my bathroom sink are the same soap chips that have always been there since day one of our acquaintance, and that I and all my other friends are just dirty godless heathens that never wash their hands after using the toilet. He's obviously never used the bachelor's housekeeping method of transferring any unusable soap chips from the shower to the bathroom sink, in hopes of getting that last bit of 'oomph' out of them. Here's my response to that, bitch:
You practically live here. You're here at least once a week, and the soap is in plain sight on the bathroom shelf. If you want a bar of soap, get one your own damn self, motherfucker. Nobody ever accused me of being one of those girly girls who has baskets of flower-shaped soap in her bathroom that are for looks and not for touching, and you knew that the day you met me. Which brings me to part two of my scintillating rant:
Why is it that a girl like me -- one who would rather play guitar or video games than go shopping or paint her nails, and who is unable to maintain friendships with any woman who isn't at least as butch as she is -- still has a freakout when a spider drops out of the ceiling into her bra, causing her to run immediately for the nearest shower to scrub the 8-legged ickies away in hopes that she will stop psychosomatically itching long enough to sleep?
Posted by laura at March 19, 2002 01:19 AM