I’m fucking irritated that I just folded what equates to three baskets of a stranger’s fucking laundry. Oh, and they’re washing clothes again. Because apparently being caught out in the same tube top on the second day is bad? (I mean, they only go to walmart.) Also, I’m puzzled and pretty pissed that every week I fold at least six party dresses for this woman’s kid and she’s never worn them during the week. What the fuck? If they don’t fit give them to Goodwill. If they do, HANG THEM THE FUCK UP UNTIL THE BITCH NEEDS A PARTY DRESS.
You are forty one, woman. YOU SHOULD KNOW THE FLOOR IS NOT A DRESSER.
I’m just so damn done with roommates. I don’t benefit from this relationship (like my marriage, no benefit in that shit either) so why the hell can’t I just either have them leave or have me leave? Oh, right, because the dick I married has happily pledged my fucking paycheck to his dad for house repairs for a house I hate living in! And I don’t. For christ’s sake, if I’m paying, can I at least get a bedroom door????