and hand it to her. I pay for her baking goods, too. âHave I ever told you I give amazing gifts? Itâs kind of a special talent of mine.â
She rolls her eyes, but as we leave, she lets go of the teasing and drops a soft kiss on my cheek. âThank you for the amazing gifts. That was very sweet of you.â
Later, as we spend our first night together as roommates, Iâm weirdly jealous of a pillow.
But a week or so after that, itâs not pillows Iâm jealous of.
7
F rom the pages of Josieâs Recipe Book
Air-Popped Popcorn for Nights Hanging Out on the Couch
----
I ngredients
1/4 cup unpopped corn kernels
One popcorn popper
----
D irections
Place the kernels in the popcorn popper.
Put the top on.
Stick that baby in the microwave.
This is the toughest part. Gather close. Wait for it . . . hit the popcorn button on the microwave. Watch it. When the microwave dings, voila!
----
S erving suggestion : Dump the popped corn into a bowl, sprinkle with a little salt, grate a small bit of parmesan cheese, and prepare to enjoy the hell out of a snack as you curl up on the couch and watch TV.
----
S pecial instructions : Resist placing your feet on Chaseâs legs. Refrain from snuggling up next to him. Keep your hands out of that hair. That golden brown, slightly wavy, looks-so-damn-soft hair. You are friends, and you like hanging out with him. Itâs that simple, and donât presume that friendship means you get the chance to touch his hair. Even though you really, really, really want to touch his hair.
8
S ix things Iâve learned about women from living with one. . .
----
O ne
----
T hey use a lot of toilet paper.
Okay, hold on. I donât mean anything untoward. What I mean is thisâitâs like an epic fiesta of tissue in the bathroom.
âCan you pick up TP on your way home?â Josie asks on the phone one evening as Iâm leaving the hospital after an insane day of sprains and broken bones. âWeâre almost out.â
âThereâs half a roll,â I say, because thatâs good for three days, right?
Nope.
Iâm wrong.
âChase,â she chides as I head down the street. âThatâll be gone in a couple of hours.â
And I know why. The chick loves toilet paper. Sheâs like one of those cat memes, where the pussycatâs paws are wrapped around the roll, and sheâs gleefully tugging it off the holder. Josie uses it for everything.
She uses it to take off her makeup. She uses it to clean up water on the bathroom sink. She uses it to dust . Yup, she wads up a chunk of TP and wipes down the shelves with it. She fucking unravels it with her little feline paws. She uses it when she blows her nose, which, incidentally, is kind of adorable since she makes a little squeak.
I pop into the drugstore and grab some TP. I get her favorite kind. Because it makes her happy.
----
T wo
----
H air .
Itâs pretty much everywhere. I find brown strands on the couch. I discover pink strands in the sink. And, truth be told, I find Josieâs hair in my own hair. Shhh. Donât tell her but . . . I use her hairbrush. I donât know why, but girlsâ brushes are evidently way better than combs. Theyâre just really fucking awesome.
----
T hree
----
J osie really likes it when I perform manly tasks. I like it when she likes it when I do manly tasks. Sorry if that makes me not PC or whatever. Iâm sure I should be defying stereotypical gender roles and knitting her a scarf or planting flowers, but I wonât lieâI vastly prefer when she asks me to lift shit. A few days ago, she wanted to move the coffee table. I happily obliged, and I enjoyed the fact that she checked out my arms when I carried it. The other night, she asked me to open a pickle jar. I strutted into the kitchen, flexed my arms, and made a big show of it.
âPeacock,â she muttered.
I wiggled my eyebrows. âItâs really hard
Carol Durand, Summer Prescott