#013 Living with old ladies

About a month ago, I moved in with an old lady.  I have learned one thing:  never have old women as roommates.   It can get complicated.

Unfortunately, as a young lady, I know that I am in danger of becoming an old woman – watching t.v. at high volumes, listening to talk radio about metapause, reading books about political corruption and talking about “when I was your age”, and treating my dog like a child.

To help further illustrate the horrors of old lady roommates, allow me to share the stories of my pain.

Old women cackle.  Really. It’s not just an stereotype, they really do.  I was sitting in my room, minding my own business, when I heard a sound that sounded like a chicken being harassed.  Turns out, my roommate was watching reruns of America’s Funniest Home Videos.  And laughing hysterically.  Continually.  At every clip.  Now, I totally get a kick out of watching kids hit their dad in the crotch, cats slide across a wood floor, and ice fall on a half naked man.  But I don’t cackle.  I chuckle.  Quietly.

Old women have weird hearing issues.  One minute, I am being told to “speak up, I can’t hear you!”  and another minute I am instructed to “take your phone conversation in your room, I can’t hear my tv!!”  Also, me walking into the kitchen at 7 am in my high heels wakes her up, and “can you please wear slippers instead, even though it’s only for the thirty seconds as you walk out the door to work.”

Old ladies with dogs…..that was a relationship designed to show God has a sense of humor.  My old lady roommate has a puppy.  That she treats like a child.  These are the sounds I hear as I sit my room.

“NOOOOO!!!! You WILL sit!  You WILL stay! NOOOOOOOO! Don’t you dare get up! Eat your dinner!  You are not being a good girl!  I told you to be a good girl!  Now you are going outside!  Think about what you did!”

Yep.

Oh.  And watching old women do a 70s televised exercise class?   It’s better than watching America’s Funniest Home Videos and it is the closest thing that will make me cackle.

Basically, my house rules have been given as follow: I can’t turn on the heater, I can’t make noise, and I can’t cook for fear I will make a pan dirty.

When I grow up, I hope I don’t become an old woman.