When your vegetarian roommate calls and says your bedroom smells like beef, you know something has gone terribly wrong at home.
But this is reason the first why I love my roommate Claudia: She is OK with cleaning up hideous messes.
I will forego relating the exact ircumstances that led up to her having to clean up several mounds of cat vomit this evening. Suffice it to say Lucy the Shit-Snacker was involved, and the evening's tension apparently made my little Vivian feel she needed to gobble up every bit of dinner she could fit down her gullet.
A stress eater, just like her mama.
The additional stress, or perhaps the horfing of Friskies Beef and Gravy led to some insta-vomit -- in my bedroom, of course. Under the bed, at the foot of the bed and, oh joy, on my sweat pants.
Claudia called me at work to let me know that when I get home, I will find my window open and the fan on.
If I ever have to get rid of a body, Claudia will be first on my list of people to call.
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