This morning, Cari comes in shame-faced and says, "So, I backed into your car..." There's a pause, and then she says, "I guess everyone's going to read about this in your diary today." Apparently, I leave my poor roommates in constant fear that they are going to read about their exploits in my journal.

Of course, as she says this my jaw is dropped, and I'm like "My poor car, I just got the bumper reattached". But Cari quickly finishes the thought with "Don't worry, the only thing that broke was the little propeller on my trailer hitch, your car is fine." Luckily, bumpers are there for a reason.

I like having roommates. It gives me someone to harrass about decisions to purchase witch shoes (Cari) and the desire to keep things in "original packaging" (Kennda) and thinking of ways that unborn future children will "disrespect" books. And, of course, its nice when you get a call as your about to leave for work, with someone asking "what do you want for dinner", and actually having food waiting for you when you get home.