Chicken Little

There’s a big room and a little room. I want the big room. I always want the big room. This morning was time to decide who gets the big room and who gets the little room. Sometimes, it doesn’t really matter because the big room is like a half a foot bigger than the little room and so it’s basically the same. Not the case here. Big room is quite a bit bigger than little room. Little room is also painted this pukey seafoam green color. I want the big room.

So we decide we are going to have the boss draw to decide who gets which room. On one slip of paper we write big, and on the other, small. We try to decide who the boss is drawing for first when roommate says, wait, how about if she draws big you get the big room because you like Big, from SATC. And if she draws small, I get the big room, well, because you’re already big. Okay fine. Whatever, roommate.

Boss draws small.

So small gets the big room.

Big gets the small room. Are you confused yet?

Me too.

I would like to send a shoutout here to boss for ruining the next year of my life. It's really been a freakin' treat working for you.

The point is, I get the pukey seafoam green small closet of a room that will barely fit my bed and maybe my shoes. I will have to jump from my door to my bed because there will be no room to walk around anything to get anywhere. I’ll have to put my dresser on the side of the bed I don’t sleep on since there will be no floor room, which also means no one will be sharing my bed. I have no idea where the rest of my clothes and books and everything else a girl needs on a daily basis—NOPE, I have no idea where any of that will go.

Wish me luck. Family + Moving + Cleaning + Baby + Packing + Going down 4 flights of stairs = recipe for familial disaster. Oy ve.