And then things got weirder...

Upon returning home from work and a subsequent trip to the grocer’s last night, The Good Roommate exited his room and began conversing with me as I put my plunder in the fridge and various cupboards.

“So, how’s it going?” he asked.
“Oh, fine. I had an alright day. How are you?” I responded.
“So what’s up?”
“Umm… nothing? What’s up with you?”
(note: TGR is painfully shy it often takes him awhile to work up the courage to state his purpose)
“You know those cookies that were on the counter last night?” he finally sputtered.
“I didn’t touch them,” I retorted, knowing how anal he is about people eating/drinking/touching what is rightfully his.
(note: I think I know better than to eat ANYTHING in that apartment that hasn’t been sealed in an airtight container)
“Yeah, I didn’t think you did. I knew it was (The Flatulent One)… Well, I’m going to make another batch of cookies and leave them out and he’ll be sorry he ever messed with me.”
“What-- you’re going to poison him?!?”
“Let’s just say he’s not going to be able to leave the bathroom for awhile.”
“But I share a bathroom with him! If his butt explodes I’m going to have to deal with the sounds and smell more than I already do! Please don’t!” I begged.
“Oh yeah; I forgot about that. I’ll come up with something else.”