HAPPINESS IS STEALING YOUR ROOMMATE'S SHAMPOO

The last two times that I washed my hair I used her shampoo, not mine.
You see, I had run out. The brand I had been using is no longer available, neither are the previous two brands.
And truth be told, the last one was a stop-gap that didn’t really please me.
I’m too cheap to throw out a nearly full bottle, so I finished it.

Finding a product that doesn’t pong like a Parisian bagnio isn't easy.

The brand she uses smells good, and really makes my head feel nice.
I don't know if it does the same for her, as it has been years since I had hair-touching privileges.
We've been just roommates for such a long time now.
And there are some things we just don't share.


SURREPTITION!

I mentioned stealing her shampoo to a friend, who promptly insisted that there are many other things I should pilfer. What he specifically suggested was her panties. Little feminine panties, he averred, should always be stolen. Always!
I've observed her panties when she folded her laundry.
If I were a panty thief, they would tempt me.
They are indeed lovely panties.

But I'm not sure I get his point. They would be far too small for me, and I've got clean underwear of my own. Baggy boxers are better for men in any case. Comfortable! Many of mine have happy blue stripes in various widths. Or they're solid pale blues, that radiate dignity and gravitas. Especially when that is all I'm wearing.
Furthermore, if I were to steal her panties, the painful constriction might distract me so much that I didn't look where I was going, and get hit by a car. Or have some other accident.
The emergency room staff at San Francisco General would no doubt look at me askance if they had to cut nice cotton or silk panties from my traumatized torso before they could attend to my wounds.
What kind of man abuses such nice panties, they would ask.
I do NOT want my medical care impacted by my nether garments.

That goes double for brassieres.
Which he didn’t' include.

We share many things anyway. Coffee, tea, cookies, barbecue chips.
Almost everything in the fridge is up for grabs, within reason.
The fresh salmon is hers. The smoked salmon is mine.
But the milk, butter, eggs, bread, preserves, condiments, cheese, and ice-cream are communal property.
They always have been. I want her to share my ice-cream and cheese.
And my condiments. Mi chilipaste con garlic es su chilipaste con garlic.
If we had herring, we'd share that too.
Both of us love herring.


SHAMPOO!

I've been warned not to take her soaps or hair care products.
She doesn't want to run out when she really needs them.
Finding them depleted would make her "peevish".

So, to prevent apartmental discord, I am replacing what I stole.
And to make sure I get to use more of it, I got two large bottles.


MOROCCAN ARGAN OIL SHAMPOO

"A unique, precious blend of Moroccan argan oil which instantly penetrates the hair shaft restoring shine and softness while strengthening and creating soft, seductive, silky perfection."


Part of me feels soft and seductive.

Silky too.



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