Our door room eats shirts.

In all perfect honesty, I really don’t consider my dormitory incredibly dirty. It gets “messy” sure, but in that teenage-denial sort of way I attribute it to the fact that 3 human beings inhabit a 13 x 13 foot space. Someone once told me that if you did the math, the square footage allotted to each person in a standard triple room is less than the county jail.

The numbers aside, I really don’t mind living here. Sure, if I didn’t like my roommates my words would be undoubtedly different. But luckily I love my two fellow partners in crime to death. We’re like a Peanut-Butter-Jelly-Sandwich. I’m creamy and brown, Yuletide is sticky and fermented, and Fatty is the bread, thin and white.

However, I digress, back to the more important point. Somehow our room has this innate talent for sucking up clothing into some intangible inaccessible 5^th dimension. Losing your favorite shirt can be likened losing your favorite child. When I couldn’t locate my yellow golden bear tee I was at a loss, when Taylor lost his Bouncing Souls shirt he lost a staggering amount of weight as we cried in each other’s arms for endless days.

Nonetheless, we recently scored a pivotal victory in this sick malicious garment ingesting war. After disassembling our dressers we recovered 3 of 6 missing Tees which brings a much needed glimmer of hope.

That’s life I guess. Sometimes you win; sometimes your favorite piece of clothing is devoured by an inanimate housing unit. Just keep fighting.

Labels: damn shirt monster

This entry was posted on Tuesday, February 27, 2007 at 6:19 PM. You can skip to the end and leave a response.