Things are working out pretty well so far with Renty, our new roommate. He's around 40 years old, divorced, works normal hours and cleans up after himself. He's like the exact opposite of Eco Nazi. Renty has two kids that are 7 and 9 years old, and they come stay with us every other weekend. I was a bit nervous about that, because kids can be shits. Especially kids of recently divorced parents. They're all yelly and whiny. But so far, Renty's kids have been awesome. They are so cute and friendly, and his boy has this lisp that makes me want to squeeze him to death. But I won't, because I got in trouble the last time I did that.
There is one thing about Renty that is a bit disturbing. Renty loves my cat. I mean, he really LOVES my cat. Things started out normal when he moved in...he would pet Max whenever he saw her, but that was about it. Then about a week after he got here, he started calling her "princess". Then the baby talk started. "Hewo wittle pwincess! Who's a wittle pwincess? You are! That's wite, you are!"
But a few days ago, Renty did something that kind of freaked me out. He kissed my cat. Not on the lips, thank God. He kissed her on the head. But still! It's creepy, yo. Even Max is weirded out by it. He does it every time he sees her now. Luckily, I have The Claw ready at all times, just in case he goes for the lips.
Also, today I had to put Renty's underwear in the dryer because he left it in the washer. You know, I figured one of the perks of getting married was that I would only have to touch one man's underwear for the rest of my life. No more surprises, like when you were dating that one bartender and found out later that he wore g-strings...or like when you went out with that mechanic because you were going through your "it's what's on the inside that counts" phase and then it turned out his idea of clean underwear was turning the pair he wore yesterday inside out.
That shit better not happen again, because Miss Yvonne don't wash no cat molester's underwear. No sir.
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