Flash Fiction!
Move-In-Together Chicken
The first 2 weeks will be fine, because I’ll still be spending four nights a week at Corey’s.
Week 3, he’ll get wise that I’ll have been two-timing him and tell me to go fuck myself. Then I’ll actually start living there, and things will really get interesting.
By week 4 you’ll hate my taste in music - or rather, whatever one song I’ll have played on repeat all week long - and the boom box wars will begin.
Up until week 5, I’ll be pretty good about cleaning up after myself, but then I’ll find a piece of lingerie in your laundry, which I’ll have been doing because it’s just cheaper and more convenient to do full loads. I’ll express my jealousy by letting my dishes pile up in the sink.
Week 6 will begin the pajama wars. My blue flannel nightgown, Scooby Doo lounge pants (which are more hole than satin), and thick green ski socks will narrowly beat out you-in-the-buff for the glorious title of Who’s-More-Unpleasant-To-Look-At.
Week 7, I’ll come home to find that you’ll have eaten my last chocolate éclair, even though, I’ll have asked you a thousand times not my last-one of something.
Week 8: My high-school sweetheart will come home from college. You’ll see us leaving the parking lot together as you’re coming home and spend the next six hours disinfecting every common surface in the apartment.
After eleven days of being gone I’ll finally come home, at the end of week 9. The guy from your work that I used to date, and his new girlfriend, will be in the living room beating my top scores on Guitar Hero.
Two days later, I’ll invite your obnoxious ex-girlfriend to sleep over. You’ll disappear for two weeks.
When you finally come back, right around the three-month mark, we’ll mutually decide to go our separate ways.
Also, I have a cat.
The first 2 weeks will be fine, because I’ll still be spending four nights a week at Corey’s.
Week 3, he’ll get wise that I’ll have been two-timing him and tell me to go fuck myself. Then I’ll actually start living there, and things will really get interesting.
By week 4 you’ll hate my taste in music - or rather, whatever one song I’ll have played on repeat all week long - and the boom box wars will begin.
Up until week 5, I’ll be pretty good about cleaning up after myself, but then I’ll find a piece of lingerie in your laundry, which I’ll have been doing because it’s just cheaper and more convenient to do full loads. I’ll express my jealousy by letting my dishes pile up in the sink.
Week 6 will begin the pajama wars. My blue flannel nightgown, Scooby Doo lounge pants (which are more hole than satin), and thick green ski socks will narrowly beat out you-in-the-buff for the glorious title of Who’s-More-Unpleasant-To-Look-At.
Week 7, I’ll come home to find that you’ll have eaten my last chocolate éclair, even though, I’ll have asked you a thousand times not my last-one of something.
Week 8: My high-school sweetheart will come home from college. You’ll see us leaving the parking lot together as you’re coming home and spend the next six hours disinfecting every common surface in the apartment.
After eleven days of being gone I’ll finally come home, at the end of week 9. The guy from your work that I used to date, and his new girlfriend, will be in the living room beating my top scores on Guitar Hero.
Two days later, I’ll invite your obnoxious ex-girlfriend to sleep over. You’ll disappear for two weeks.
When you finally come back, right around the three-month mark, we’ll mutually decide to go our separate ways.
Also, I have a cat.