Life with Jake was neat and cozy—until Alex, his best friend, moved in. Jake didn’t ask me, just opened our door to chaos. I turned it around with a clever twist.
Alex needed a place during his home reno, and Jake jumped at it. “It’ll be a blast!” he said as Alex arrived with gear. I wasn’t happy, but his “sorry” softened me.
A blast? More like a nightmare. Trash piled up—cans, wrappers, dirty socks everywhere. The smell from Alex’s room was unreal.
They’d game and drink late, laughing while I fumed. “They won’t bug you,” Jake had said. Instead, I was their unpaid maid.
One evening, I faced a wrecked kitchen—crumbs, dishes, mystery goo. I’d hit my breaking point. I had to act.
“Jake, we need to talk,” I said in his office. “I’m buried in mess.” He brushed it off, “One room’s no trouble—relax.”
That stung deep. I decided he’d feel the “no trouble” himself. I planned my move that night.
Early next day, I scooped up Alex’s junk—food bits, cans, laundry. I dumped it in Jake’s office before they woke. It was a glorious mess.
“What’s this?” Jake roared, stumbling in. Alex chuckled, “Your office is wild, man!” I stayed quiet, sipping coffee.
Jake pushed it aside to work, but it grew—dishes, socks, trash. “I can’t take this!” he yelled. “One room,” I smiled, “no biggie, right?”
Alex shrank, “I’ll do better, dude.” They cleaned a little, but soon slacked off. My patience snapped again.
We fought Friday—Jake sided with Alex. Done, I grabbed a bag and called my pal Jen. “Can I crash?” She said yes, and her tidy place was heaven.
Monday, Jake begged, “Come home—it’s a disaster!” I held firm, “Clean it, lose Alex—then maybe.” He sent a cleanup video fast.
I returned to a sparkling house—Alex gone, bags packed. “Sorry for the trouble,” he said. Jake hugged me, “I get it now.”
We rebuilt our calm. Jake helped out, and our bond tightened. Alex’s mess showed us what matters—us, together.
