I scream, You scream, We all scream for Ice Cream

I think we can all agree that living with other people is awful.  I was so anxious to move closer to DC, that I nearly forgot how much I hate living with roommates.  After living on my own, it is really difficult to transition back to living under the whim of other people.  It’s also extra difficult to live with strangers, because I want to have a pleasant living situation but I ultimately don’t really care about my relationship with these people.  I don’t mean to sound insensitive here, but once you have stepped in the excrements of someone else’s pet more than three times you begin to feel a certain hostility to your living situation.  I have been counting down the months until my lease ends since January… The lease ends on New Years!

Outside of requests for laundry schedules and general uncleanliness, this week something happened that set me off more than normal.  I am dedicating this blog post to an ice cream cone.

Sometimes I like to buy Drumsticks ice cream cones.  I can confirm that I have never seen packaged ice cream novelties in the freezer that were not bought by myself in the entire eight months of living in my house.  Last weekend I bought a new box when I was grocery shopping – a four pack because a) Drumsticks are expensive!! and b) I can’t justify buying more than that without feeling super gluttonous.

When I get ice cream cones, I unbox them and try to place them strategically in the freezer so as to not get crushed.  Tuesday I went to grab a cone and was surprised to see only two cones remaining, rather than the three there should have been.  I assumed that maybe my boyfriend had grabbed one.  Wednesday, I was in a bad mood when I got home.  I remembered that I had one more ice cream cone left and perked up at the idea of a tasty treat!  I skipped over to the freezer and opened the door gleefully to find…. no ice cream cone.

This time, I was 100% sure that the evening before when I grabbed one cone there was one more remaining.  My boyfriend hadn’t been over since then, so it was impossible that he could have grabbed the last one.  Someone ate my dang ice cream cone!  This isn’t just grabbing some milk or sugar, this was MY ICE CREAM CONE.  It was only a box of four!  I huffed off to my room, angry that my evening treat was stolen from me.  As I sat in bed questioning why anyone would steal an ice cream cone, I thought I must be mistaken.  I went back to the kitchen and hastily emptied the entire freezer.  There was no ice cream cone.

The rational side of me understands that this is incredibly dramatic and it’s just an ice cream cone.  However, I’ve since confirmed that my boyfriend didn’t eat the other missing ice cream cone.  So that is TWO out of FOUR ice cream cones that were stolen!  Originally I wasn’t going to buy another box after the last one, because it’s summer and hellooo beach bod.  However, I went out and bought a new box yesterday after work just so I could write my name in huge letters across the box.  Because I’m petty like that.

Moral of the story: don’t mess with my ice cream unless you are prepared for passive aggressive notes.

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