My roommate couldn’t cook, but she still wanted to eat home-cooked meals. So, she taped a meal request notice right on my door. [Hey, roommate!] [I’m super busy with work, and I don’t have time to cook, not that I know how to, anyway. I’ve been living on takeout for over half a month, and my stomach can’t take it anymore. Your cooking looks amazing, so I was wondering if I could have some too.] At first, I felt a little bad for her. I mean, sharing a meal now and then wouldn’t be a big deal. But then I kept reading, and my jaw practically hit the floor. [Requirements 1: You need to cook three meals a day for me from Monday to Friday. No exceptions. And I don’t want to have to remind you that girls should be diligent, or else no one will want to marry them.] [Requirements 2: I expect you to buy me a new set of reusable food containers. Disposable ones aren’t hygienic. Just pack my meals and leave them outside my door.] [Requirements 3: I’m not picky, but I don’t eat black pepper, parsley, thyme, potatoes, chili, or anything smoked.] [Requirements 4: Each meal should include three dishes and a soup. The soup must be meat-based because I’m focusing on my protein intake.] [Requirements 5: Since I’m just ‘borrowing’ your meals, I won’t be paying you. And don’t even think about asking for money. Times are tough for all of us.] [If you’re willing to help, I’d be forever grateful. Your kindness might just add a few more years to a struggling worker’s life.] I actually laughed out loud. Then I ripped the note off my door, crumpled it up, and tossed it straight into the trash. I thought, “Was she serious? Maybe her stomach problems messed with her brain, too.”
Last Friday morning, someone knocked on my door. Half-asleep and irritated, I mumbled, “Who is it?” It was my day off, and I hadn’t slept in properly for ages. Of course, I was annoyed. “Adeline, are you home? I heard you say yesterday that you’re off today. Can you do me a favor? I have work soon, and I was wondering if you could make me a plate of pasta?” I recognized the voice immediately. It was Brynlee Mercer, the roommate who moved in two weeks ago. Her tone was almost pleading, with a hint of pitiful desperation. I scratched my head, still groggy. “Why don’t you just grab a sandwich on your way out? I’m exhausted. I worked an overnight shift yesterday.” I yawned, hoping she’d get the hint. Apparently, my rejection wasn’t clear enough. I had no idea, but the person outside just wouldn’t stop talking. “Adeline, those street vendors use terrible cooking oil. What if I get sick? “You’re off today anyway. Can’t you just make it real quick and go back to sleep? Please?” I took a deep breath. We were both struggling workers, after all. Helping her out this once wouldn’t kill me. So, groaning, I dragged myself out of bed. The moment I opened the door, I saw Brynlee’s face. And I swear, maybe I was imagining it, but I could’ve sworn I saw a smirk of satisfaction. I sighed, “What ingredients do you have? I’ll cook something for you.” Her eyes widened like I had just insulted her. “Huh? Aren’t you the one offering me food? Why would I have to provide ingredients?” I was stunned. When the hell did I say I was offering her a free meal? Sure, pasta ingredients weren’t expensive, but she could’ve at least pretended she was contributing. Honestly, I was already regretting getting out of bed. She was eating my food, using my stuff, and now, she was even disturbing my sleep. Brynlee pouted innocently. “Come on, hurry up! I need to eat right after I finish my skincare routine, or I’ll be late for work.” Then, just like that, she turned and walked off to the bathroom, washing her face without a second thought. Like I was some kind of unpaid maid. I was speechless. Still, I made her a quick plate of pasta using the potatoes and basil I had bought last night. But when I handed it to her, she actually had the audacity to look disgusted. “Adeline! I don’t eat basil! Or parsley! And definitely not potatoes! Why would you put those in my food?” At first, I thought she was joking. I mean, she had asked me to cook for her. But nope. She was dead serious.
I let out a short laugh, finding it unbelievable. “If you let it sit, it’ll taste even better. Besides, you didn’t tell me in the first place.” But Brynlee just stared at me like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Well, you never asked! Now hurry up and make me a new one!” I sighed, feeling drained. Even though I was annoyed, I still spoke to her nicely. “Aren’t you about to head to work? Why not just make do with this?” If she had any specific requests, she should’ve said something before I cooked, not after. That wasn’t my fault. I thought she’d grumble a little and let it go, but instead, she let out an angry huff, slammed her hands on the table, and shot to her feet. “Forget it! I’m not eating! You’re just doing this on purpose because you don’t want to cook for me!” Since we were roommates, I didn’t want things to get too tense between us. Just as I was about to explain, she suddenly rammed into me hard, like she did it on purpose. I let out a laugh, more out of disbelief than anything. “Did I not get enough things to do? Is that why I’m out here looking for trouble?” I figured that was the end of her ridiculous behavior, but I had seriously underestimated her. Just now, when I got home from work, I saw a notice taped to my bedroom door. [Hey, roommate!] [I’m super busy with work, and I don’t have time to cook, not that I know how to, anyway. I’ve been living on takeout for over half a month, and my stomach can’t take it anymore. Your cooking looks amazing, so I was wondering if I could have some too.] At first, I felt a little bad for her. I mean, sharing a meal now and then wouldn’t be a big deal. But then I kept reading, and my jaw practically hit the floor. [Requirements 1: You need to cook three meals a day for me from Monday to Friday. No exceptions. And I don’t want to have to remind you that girls should be diligent, or else no one will want to marry them.] [Requirements 2: I expect you to buy me a new set of reusable food containers. Disposable ones aren’t hygienic. Just pack my meals and leave them outside my door.] [Requirements 3: I’m not picky, but I don’t eat black pepper, parsley, thyme, potatoes, chili, or anything smoked.] [Requirements 4: Each meal should include three dishes and a soup. The soup must be meat-based because I’m focusing on my protein intake.] [Requirements 5: Since I’m just ‘borrowing’ your meals, I won’t be paying you. And don’t even think about asking for money. Times are tough for all of us.] [If you’re willing to help, I’d be forever grateful. Your kindness might just add a few more years to a struggling worker’s life.] I stared at the mooching notice and actually laughed out loud. I had made her one plate of pasta out of kindness, and now she thought I was her personal chef. I ripped the paper off the door, crumpled it into a ball, and tossed it straight into the trash. This girl must’ve had stomach issues so bad that she shat her brains out. A loud commotion erupted from the entryway. I didn’t even need to guess who it was.
After all, who else in a shared apartment would make as much noise as Brynlee, whether she was leaving for work in the morning or coming home at night? It was like she was afraid no one would know she was there. A series of loud knocks hit my door, followed by her exasperated voice. “Adeline! How can you be so lazy? Where’s my dinner? Didn’t I tell you to make it for me? Where is it? “I finally get off work, all I want is a hot meal, and instead, you ignored me! “Get out here and cook! I’m starving! And did you buy me my own food container? I don’t want to use your plates. Women should have boundaries, and I hope you understand that.” I flung my door open, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “When God closed a door for you, He must’ve slammed it on your head, too. Otherwise, how else could you say something this brainless? “If you’re hungry, cook for yourself. What, don’t know how? No way. Did you hide when humans were evolving? Is that why you can’t even cook?” Brynlee opened her mouth, ready to curse me out, but I didn’t give her the chance. I put some force into my arm and slammed the door shut. Just as it clicked into place, a shrill screech erupted from the other side. “Adeline! You’re too much! What did I do wrong? All I wanted was a hot meal! Is that a crime?” Then came the wailing. I cracked the door open and found Brynlee squatting outside, tears and snot streaming down her face. I thought, “Oh my God. Did I do something in a past life to deserve this?” I leaned my head out, smirking. “You’re not a princess, so why do you act like one? No, wait, you’ve got something else. Unhinged Drama Queen Syndrome!’” With that, I slammed the door shut again. Her wailing instantly turned ear-splitting. I didn’t expect that the person who originally sat outside the door, crying, throwing tantrums, and even threatening to hang herself, suddenly stopped. Just when I thought she had given up, realizing she didn’t have a princess’ life but was playing the princess’ game, she unexpectedly attached herself to someone else.
In the kitchen, my other roommate, Clara Holloway, was busy cooking. I was a little surprised. She was tall and skinny, yet she could eat two plates of pasta. I couldn’t resist teasing her. “Wow, I’m so jealous. You eat so much and never gain weight!” Clara frowned and gave me a helpless smile. “I don’t have a choice. Brynlee wants me to cook for her.” The grin on my face vanished in an instant. “She gave you a notice too, didn’t she?” Clara looked confused. I almost told her about the ridiculous dinner request I’d gotten, but then I remembered we weren’t that close yet. Complaining about someone behind their back might make me look petty. So, I showed a smile and waved it off. “Oh… nothing. Forget it.” She didn’t seem fully convinced but didn’t push the issue. Carrying three dishes and a bowl of soup, she headed for the living room. Watching her walk away, I shook my head. “I really hope I’m overthinking this.” As I washed the dishes, I overheard Brynlee’s unmistakable voice once again. “Ugh, the meat isn’t tender! Do you even know how to cook? If you don’t, learn! “And didn’t I say I don’t eat basil? Are you deaf? Seriously, if you can’t even handle something so simple, what good are you? “This pasta isn’t soft either. My stomach can’t handle cheap food.” The moment she finished speaking, Clara let out a sharp, cold laugh. “Oh? Is that so?” I nearly choked, trying to hold back a laugh. I thought, “Life was dull, but watching a toad critique humans? Priceless.” What I didn’t expect was that by noon the next day, Clara would show up at my door, holding something I knew all too well, a fresh copy of the infamous dinner request notice. She stood there, looking downright betrayed. “So… this is what you wanted to tell me last night?”
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