Sleeping bag

Hey guys, if you haven’t read it already scroll down the page and check out the entry entitled “Problem Number Two: Lyle’s Special Time,” because this next story is directly related. (I’m now picturing the eyes of my long time readers widening at the mention of that entry). Sometimes I wonder why I didn’t hold onto that story for a bit longer, because when you try to list reasons someone is a bad roommate its pretty damn hard to top vividly describing them masturbating within an arms length above you.  So when this next story happened I made sure to try and get it on paper pretty quickly.

            This one begins with Lyle needing to purchase a sleeping bag, and now that I am on a never-ending quest to put myself in odd situations with the guy, I jumped at the chance to give him a ride. We enter the sporting goods store and a few minutes passed as Lyle mustered up the courage to ask one of the clerks for assistance, and I wandered the outskirts of the shop. Eventually I made my way back over to Lyle who was testing the sleeping bag by hopping, and wriggling around. The combination of the lite green sleeping back with Lyle’s pasty pale complexion made him look like some kind of giant uncoordinated caterpillar.

            Here comes the part that blew my mind. When Lyle unzipped the sleeping bag and stepped out, my jaw dropped in horror at the site in front of me. HE WAS WEARING MY FUCKING SOCKS! Seriously, it was unmistakable. They even had the little patches with my last name on them that my mom insisted on ironing on to prevent anyone from picking them up by accident.

           

            Admittedly I felt partially at fault because I must have thrown away a good percentage of Lyles sock drawer at this point. But what the hell man? I know there isn’t much to this story its self, but try and understand what an impact this had on me. That night I lost a good amount of sleep (and not for the usual reasons). This gave me a lot to think about. For example, “is it possible that he didn’t see the little tags with my name on them?” And “could it be that he is doing this maliciously as a way of getting revenge?” That thought lead to a never-ending loop of “does he know that I’m one hundred percent aware of what he does at night in the top bunk? And now, I know that he knows that I know, but does he know I know he knows I know. “

            In retrospect I see that if I had just called him out the first time, and told him to stop, instead of waiting to vent by blogging angrily about him on the internet, this all could have been avoided. But hey, if The Social Network taught me anything it’s that this very same thing worked out for Mark Zuckerberg.

(See, I can relate this to class)