Spaghetti

“On a scale of 1 to 10, how much do you want to make me spaghetti?” is a question I hear at least once a week. Usually at times when your average person is asleep. Mostly because my roommate has a serious addiction to spaghetti.

Seriously. We went out for pizza the other night, got a giant pizza, and she still ordered a side of spaghetti. It’s ridiculous.

Let me tell you a little about my roommate. 

  • Her name is Arianna
  • she is 20
  • We met like 7 years ago in physical science class
  • we had the best way to remember how to spell molybdenum when we were memorizing the periodic table
  • she moved in over the summer 
  • she has tiny feet.
Image

aww look at this cutie.

So I walk in after I get home from work, 12:15 a.m. and big shocker almost immediately she asks me to make her pasta. And I’m a pushover. And the best time to make any kind of food is after midnight. And last time I didn’t get her food when she asked she looked up the word “snack” in about 30 different languages and sent them to me until I caved.

So I’m making the pasta and choosing to take this as an opportunity to pretend, at least for 20 minutes, that I don’t have a paper due in 11 hours.

Because procrastination and pasta are the two most important p words you’ll ever know.

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