I am not allowed to wear shoes in my house. It is strictly verboten.
No, I do not live in a commune. I also do not live in a Japanese tea room. I live in a crappy townhouse with papier-mache floors and bad carpetting. I am not allowed shoes beceause my roommates are mad (or MAD).
I'm not a bad roommate. I don't bring out the cops at five in the morning. I've never mysteriously "fallen" down the stairs at around the same time of day. I do not linger directly outside of my roommate's bedroom for 20-30 minutes at a time while trying to suppress my breathing, I don't sleep with my brother, I don't fill the kitchen with strangers, cockroaches and Pizza Hut.
I'm a little messy. Occasionally, sounds of debauched joy may have drifted from my Sunday afternoon bedroom (for which I am sorry - well no, not that sorry). It could be worse. They have no idea what I could have been like.
For instance, I could have taken the wet paper towels I have used to clean their cat's vomit from my bedroom floor and left them on a choice bedroom pillow. I could have summoned the dead to rise from the graves and chase them all the way back to the Metro after a long night's drinking. I could have driven a hatchet deep into their spinal column while they bend over the dishwasher.
But I didn't. I just wore my shoes indoors. Repeatedly.
