So there I am, relaxing in bed on a rare occasion where my roommate is back home for the weekend. Don’t get me wrong, my roommate is lovely and wonderful and we are friends, but her absence in our shared room at night leads to the presence of another—my lovely girlfriend.
We had been excitedly planning our sleepover for a full week, planning out all the fun activities we would get to do together, topics to gossip about, and even snacks and drinks prepped way in advance. (Maybe too far in advance…the Sprite was flat :/)
While laying in bed, we do what you would expect two lesbians in a relationship to be doing on a Sunday morning. We schedule our abortion appointments, lick the postage on a minimum of five mail-in ballots each, and change our pronouns in our Instagram bio. We are enjoying what any liberal would call a lovely morning.
When all of a sudden, I hear this agitating, grating voice…the fire alarm at full blast. Oh great. Another popcorn bag burnt to hell and back for the crime of being forgotten. Effectively ruining my perfect morning where I had scheduled performing transgender operations with my girlfriend (first side by side, and then on each other).
I angrily rush out of bed, grab my shoes and keys and such, and am thrust into the cold morning sunlight. Oh how I miss the lgbt rainbow cocoon of my dorm! Who is this evil spirit manipulating me into going outside and ruining my girlfriend sleepover instead of dyeing my hair blue???
I may never know the exact identity of whoever caused there to be so much smoke in the air at 610 Beacon that I was blinded, coughing and feeling my way to the exit, but I do know one thing for certain. The fire alarm was evil, it ruined my sleepover with my girlfriend, and there’s only one question now: how do I ever move forward after this?