Desperately Seeking Roommate

by Micalea Smeltzer

With a groan, I stand up, stretching my stiff muscles. I’m twenty-one going on eighty. If I’m sitting or in any position for too long my limbs lock up despite my nearly daily yoga routine. It’s ridiculous.

“I like to think my awkwardness brings joy to those around me.” “As opposed to what?” I inquire, thanking Joe with a nod as he sets down a glass of water for each of us. I gulp greedily at the cold liquid. “Horror at the realization a walking wrecking ball exists, ready to take down anything and anyone around her. I can’t help it that I’m clumsy and stupid things happen to me.” “Same, girl.” I can relate to that on every level.

“You’re kind of adorable.” Adorable. That word feels like an ice cube dropped down my back—cold, prickly, and utterly distasteful. Most girls get told they’re pretty, or if they’re lucky beautiful, gorgeous, or even stunning. I’ve always been stuck in the cute or adorable category. It’s a corner I don’t like being shoved into. Is it my size that doesn’t make me worthy of more flowery descriptors or am I forever going to be the girl that never is in the starring role, even in her own life?

I might have my moments of weakness, who doesn’t, but I never let my self-doubt dull my sparkle for long. I’m a unicorn—a rare, precious thing, and any man will be damn lucky for me to choose him.

Clearly this chick is certifiable, but I find myself entertained and slightly curious.

“I’m sick and tired of people thinking their opinion on my weight, or how I dress, or what I say is somehow important. What is important is how I see myself.” I slam a finger into my chest. “And I love me. I’m beautiful, I’m hot, I’m sexy. I didn’t defend myself to him last year, but I sure as hell will now. I’m fucking awesome and my worth isn’t determined by him or anyone else. People like him are a dime a dozen, but me? I’m rare. I’m—”

“What is she telling you?” She runs at me, the towel she’s wearing barely able to hang on with all the movement. I hold the phone out of her reach. “She’s just getting to the good part about the time you mooned the mailman when you were six. Oomph.” She slams into me, tackling me to the ground. Fuck, she might be useful on the team.

Jesus is probably shaking his head right now wishing I’d stop using his name in instances like this and instead be a little more humble and get on my knees to pray.