A House of Men

“Carlos, turn that down!’

“Ah, but Holly, the Falcons are getting ready to score.”

My grades are more important than that damn football game. Turn it down before I come do it for you.”

“Holly . . .”

“Don’t push me, man, I’m not joking.”

“Fine.”

“Thanks.”

Silence is the only reply I get, and I sigh. I hate being the ogre of the house, but living with five men definitely puts a strain on my patience and study time. If it’s not a football game, it’s an impromptu hockey match in socks on the kitchen floor or a pack of guys drinking beer like water. And I can forget sleeping much at night. Joe sleeps on the couch and must leave the TV on to drown out the sounds of Mark and his buddies playing poker all night. Carlos snores so loud sometimes that the walls quiver in fear, and my twin brothers spend the night sleep talking to each other. No matter what night of the week it is, there is usually someone passed out in my bathtub from the beer drinking that goes on all day, so peeing just isn’t an option at night. Don’t get me wrong, I love the guys, but really, living with them is sometimes more than I can handle.

“Holly!”

“What, Mark?”

“Where are my underwear?”

“How should I know, I don’t wear them.”

“Yeah, but I thought you washed them.”

“I don’t do your laundry, Mark, and you know it.”

“I know, but I kind of threw them in with your clothes last night, and now I can’t find them. Have you seen ‘em?”

“No.”

“Can I look for them?”

“Yeah, but if you mess my drawers up in the process . . .”

“I won’t, I won’t. I remember last time, Holly.”

Now I feel bad. Yelling at two of my roommates within twenty minutes of each other is horrible, but what can I do? My bedroom is the only place in this rambling old house I can hope to find peace and privacy. It’s also the only clean room in the house. The kitchen is barely healthy for keeping food, and the living room is covered with food wrappers, dishes, beer cans, and Joe’s dirty clothes. Oh, and did I mention the many unknown males I find passed out there from the night before? My bathroom is the only one of the three that is worth using, and the only one with a toilet seat. I avoid the four other bedrooms at all costs; you never know what’s in there that’s going to eat you alive or drench you in foul odors.

“Rob, what the hell are you doing?”

“Nothing, Jay, just looking for more beer.”

“You drank it all last night, dunderhead.”

“No I didn’t, I wasn’t even here last night.”

“Yeah you were.”

“No I wasn’t, I was at Mary’s giving her the ride of her life. Man, you should hear her squeal when I . . .”

“Rob!”

“What, Holly?”

“Please! I don’t want to know what you did to Mary.”

“I wasn’t talking to you, so . . .”

“I don’t really care. Take it elsewhere, alright?”

“Only if you tell me what you did with the beer.”

“Why would I do anything with your beer?”

“Well, we know you covet our little front room fridge, so surely you hid the beer to get at it.”

“Jay, that is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard. You’re acting like a five year old.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Listen, if you go look in the fridge in Mark’s room, I’m sure there’s plenty

there.”

“We don’t drink Michelob Light, only Corona.”

“So go buy some. It’s not like it would hurt you to actually go to the store for

once.”

“Where is that again?”

“Rob . . .”

“Okay, okay, we’re going. Oh, can we borrow your car?”

“Out. Now.”

“Is that a no?”

“If I hear one more word from either of you, I’m, I’m, I’m . . .”

“We’re definitely leaving. Bye sis.”

“Hmp.”

It is so hard living in a house with shopping impaired men. Especially lazy shopping impaired men. Thus the fridge in almost every room in the house. Not one of the guys seems to be capable of getting his butt out of his chair or off his bed long enough to grab a beer from the kitchen fridge. Stocking those fridges is a total nightmare. Do you have any idea what it costs to stock six mini fridges and one full size one with four different kinds of beer? It’s not a pretty sight, I promise. Food is also a hard task. Carlos is lactose intolerant, Joe lives solely on ice cold Spaghetti O’s and cottage cheese, the twins are allergic to nuts, strawberries, pork and chicken, Mark is excessively picky, and I can’t stand the thought of ketchup or salad dressing. A varied, pain in the ass diet is not only a problem in its own right, but is very hard to fit around the Budweiser, Michelob Light, Corona and some German import beer that smells like a dead skunk.

“Sadie . . .”

“My name is Holly, Joe.”

“Hey, I knew that.”

“Sure you did. Do you need something?”

“Naw, just trying to get a peek at your boobs is all.”

“I’m doing my homework, Joe, not a floorshow.”

“I know, but you know, sometimes I like to do my homework naked, so I thought maybe you did too.”

“How much have you had to drink today?”

“All the beer in the front room fridge and a couple from the basement bathroom one.”

So that’s were Rob’s beer went.

“Jeez, Joe, it’s only two o’clock.”

“I know, but I have a meeting with my custody hearing at five thirty, so I had to do my drinking this morning.”

“I don’t think you’re going to be sober for the meeting, Joe.”

Joe didn’t hear me. Instead, he is a large snoring heap in my doorway. I feel sorry for him. Of all the guys, he is the least likely to drink, but when these hearings come up, he gets so worried he’ll be denied custody that he can’t help but get snockered. He goes to the hearing still drunk, and what do you know, they turn him down. Again. Poor guy. Danielle is such a sweet little girl; I wish he could get it together so he could see her more, but I don’t think its going to happen anytime soon.

The one time of peace in the entire house is around three o’clock in the afternoon. Everyone is usually passed out around then. I look around and see five sleeping men: Carlos, who shakes the walls with the remote in hand; Mark, just down the hall with his underwear bunched under his head; the twins, Jay and Rob, with their precious Corona resting between them; and Joe, who is still peacefully racked out in my doorway. I am just settling in to finally get my homework done when what do ya know, the doorbell rings. Sigh.

“Can I help you?”

“Are you Holly Luxembourge?”

“Yes.”

“I have a delivery for you. I must warn you though, lady, that this has got to be the strangest delivery I’ve ever made.”

“I can imagine.”

“Here ya go.”

“Thanks.”

I close the door and open the box. Inside is a small daisy bouquet surrounded by a Budweiser, a Michelob Light, two Coronas, and a bottle of the German import stuff. I burst out laughing as I am reminded why I am a woman living with five men. It’s never boring.