I remember, Part II: Food - and how I paid for it in 2001

That December, I moved across Main Street from South campus to Callodine. To share a townhouse with two other graduate students. One from Economics and the other from Engineering. This was a huge rambling townhouse with hardwood floors and a separate bedroom for each of us. Space had been provided in the house for most amenities graduate students need (which is very little to start with anyway) except the bathroom. You would have to exit as soon as you entered the sole bathroom and as we all know, in such cases, the bathroom is to blame for all the problems that crop up amongst roommates :)

At that time, I was of the opinion that hot milk can set most things straight. This, from a purported lactose-intolerant milk-hater. Well....now that I have it in writing, it actually does make sense. Anyhow, the Engineering grad knocks on my door in the dead of the night - her pupils are dilated, sweat beads stand out on her forehead and I don't mind admitting now that I was just a little bit scared by the look in her eyes. She was having problems sleeping in her room - noises or some such. Could she share my room tonight? Sure - out come the hot milk and biscuits and we became steadfast oh-sugar-so-nice roommate buddies UNTIL....the bathroom interfered. You see, any and all of my friends/roommates will vouch for the fact that I am not the tidiest person in the world. I am one of the fast-dying breed of women who do not track down a speck of dust with a feather duster/vacuum cleaner. I clean my room if I have visitors - otherwise, I like the theory of order amidst chaos. And, we all know how that works - or at least, the few of us know. So - diehard OCD clean-freak battled diehard OCD dirt-freak and our friendship withered in the midst. What a pity - oh well. Ho hum.

It was here in this very townhouse that I hosted my first dinner party. To introduce my ex to my friends and to thank my friends for all the care they showered during my post-knee surgery days. [At this point, I should take a step back from Callodine and tell you that my winter break prior to moving into the townhouse was spent living at a friend's apartment - with a knee cast and a miniature refrigerator (it was actually an ice box) circulating cold water around the wound to keep the swelling down. I depended wholly on Sourav to cook for me and actually even entertain me - would you believe this guy and his friend took me to a movie on 25th December? Cast and refrigerator and all; lifting my leg off the road into the car; arranging for enough leg space in the movie theatre? I tell you - this guy was a Godsend. So, everytime I cuss out males in general, I have to make a few mental omissions] I cooked and I sang and we made merry. Lots of merry. Until the semester started and I was told there was no more funding. I worked in the university cafeteria slicing pizza and compiling sandwiches ("Tuna salad? Wheat or white? Mayo or mustard? Lettuce? Banana peppers? Oh come on, you **%%$!@ 18 year-old, buck the f$%& up!") - lapping up the free food and the 6.50$ an hour. This reminds me - you should try toasting an everything bagel, brush it with butter and top it with thinly sliced tomatoes. Absolute heaven.

So, one of these days (now that I have evoked sufficient sympathy from the here-now there-now reader), I hobble back home on crutches (notice 'hobble') to a yellow sticky posted on my bedroom door. The Eco grad has had it with my unkempt ways and thorough disregard for division of chores laid down in the house. Something along the lines of 'Please wipe the kitchen floor TODAY, it is YOUR turn'. So, I get down and wipe the floor. Seeing the unfairness of it all, God smote the Eco grad...well, not quite - she broke her foot descending the stairs to hell (our basement, what else). And, yours truly cooked and shared her food and chatted up the Eco grad. Needless to say, there were no more yellow stickies on my door after that.

(Sanctimonious chuckle in the background) Much more later.