Fumes

I think the fumes are getting to me. It’s either that or there really is a pink-spotted statue standing in the middle of our living room. The statue isn’t very pretty. It would’ve been, I guess, but the pink really clashes with the spiky neon green hair.

Neon green hair… That reminds me a bit of my roommate. He’s a weird guy—a bit punk-ish and favors the leathery type of second skin.

Well, no, that’s not really weird. The weird part is that he seems to be having an affair with our refrigerator. He calls it (her) Amelia. I have no idea why he does that; I didn’t even know that our fridge was a girl until he told me so. Not that I believed him, of course, ‘cause that’s just stupid.

The neon green spikes are slowly curling downwards. They looked a lot like those leaves that close during daytime… or nighttime? Leaves. I giggle.

And now that’s me being a flamingly gay guy stereotype. Straight guys rarely giggle—if they even do. Some gay people don’t, too. I guess it depends on the person. I have a giggle habit. It doesn’t bother me much.

I think the statue just moved… Wait, I think that was already a given since thirty seconds ago when the hair became a leafy little thing. I giggle again.

Oh, wait. It did move! So it isn’t a statue?

“Sid,” it sighs a tolerant… sigh. Am I being redundant? I hope I’m not. My English teacher would kill me. Not that she isn’t already doing that. I think she’ll just make the dying part slower, just so I could suffer more than I already do.

She’s very nice and patient with me, which is more than I deserve. The guilt is the one that’s killing me.

That reminds me. I hope that’s not Bobby (my roommate) standing there. You know, the name Bobby doesn’t really suit him. You’d never guess that a leather-clad guy with three of those ear piercing things on one of his ears and one lip piercing, along with neon green hair, would be named Bobby. It’s kinda’ anti-climactic isn’t it? You’d think he’d be named Spike or Killer or something cooler.

Ooh. I believe he thinks I’m ignoring him… which, right now, I realize that I am. “Hey, Bobby,” I greet him languidly from my place on the sofa. Painting the room took its toll on me, even though I’ve only painted one wall.

In my defense, that wall is very high, and I’m not what you’d call… tall. I hate it when parts of my sentences rhyme unintentionally. It’s awful.

Bobby frowns at me. No. His frown became bigger. He was frowning when I first noticed him. “What did you do to our living room?”
“I painted it, sort of,” I answer. “I felt like painting.”

“And you didn’t use a canvas to satisfy your whims because…?”

I grin. Bobby looks like he’s ready to strangle me. “I got high off the paint.”

He sighs. “Sid.” He said my name like I was wearing off his abominably bountiful patience. I don’t mean to do that most of the time. I like being friends with everyone, and the whole being friends thing doesn’t work very well if they’re mad at me.

“Sorry,” I say to him. I hope my face looks repentant. The fumes really screwed up my muscle (as well as motor) movement. “But, you know, you should take advantage of my lack of motor skills and get away as fast as you can. At least I have no energy to hit on you.”

“I don’t care about that,” Bobby tells me as he sits on the floor and faces me. He’s not very convincing. He hates it when I hit on him, joking or not.

And, no, I don’t really mean it when I do that. I just like to tease him because he’s straight as meter stick.

I wonder why he doesn’t notice that his hair has pink polka dots yet. He looks surprised. “My hair has pink polka dots?” he demands.

Guess I said that out loud. Silly me. “Yes. You look appalling. Flee, take a bath and pray that it comes off.”

Bobby touches his hair gingerly as he stands up. “Do you think it will?” he asks me, and glares when I laugh. What can I say? I’ve never seen him so concerned with his appearance. EVER!

I smirk at him in what I deem to be my sexy, sexy look. “I think it’s permanent. Don’t worry, though. I’ll still love you in spite of the hideousness that your hair has brought upon you.”

He rolls his eyes and headed to the bathroom hurriedly. “I’ll kill you for this, Sid!” he shouts, already out of my vision.

I should tear down that wall for making me miss the tremendously hilarious expressions on Bobby’s face.

A few seconds later, his voice drifts over to the living room again. “Ack! I mean it, you fool! You will die in my merciless grip!”

I giggle.

Yes, I seriously think the fumes are getting to me.