You never know how good you have it until you move out of the ‘rents house and into an apartment with a friend — even if that friend is your bestie.

The general time line of living in your own apartment for the first time goes something like this:

The first week is SO MUCH fun because you have new-found freedom.

The second week is somewhat less fun because you realize that you have to actually clean up after yourself and deal with issues with your roommate. (Especially if said roommate doesn’t wash dishes or take out trash.)

The third week you call Mom and tell her that she is an amazing human being that you appreciate and adore. Then you tell her all about your roommate …

You may think that loose standards of cleanliness are common knowledge or that you and your bestie would make the best roommates because, well, you love each other. But listen to the words I am typing on this blog — not all roommate stories are full of happiness, rainbows and unicorns.

Things happen. Fights happen. Mold kills.

If you’re wondering why mold seems to be the current topic of discussion, let me elaborate.

My sweet dear friend/roommate is a precious human being, but she has a thing about leaving rogue coffee cups that are not-quite-empty around the house. If you have ever wondered what molded coffee smells like, I’m happy to tell you. It’s a unique mixture of rotten eggs and teenage boys pre-deodorant.

And my apartment doesn’t just have a coffee mug or two lying around. No, the mold has claimed all of her mug collection and at least half of mine. (By “collection,” I mean we have enough mugs to build our own replica of the Taj Mahal. Or, at least, we did pre-mold.)

A day came when I could not take it any longer, so like any normal person that is afraid of conflict would do, I took all of the CLEAN coffee cups and hid them in the trunk of my car, and I left her with one solitary mug. My logic? This way she had to wash it or there would be no more coffee for her. (Also, if I ever get rear-ended, there’s going to be a whole lot of ceramic shards to explain in the accident report.)

The moral of my story is that best friends are not always the best roommates — even if they love downtown Birmingham and coffee just as much as you. In fact, you might want to be extra wary of that love of coffee.

Have a roommate horror story of your own? Tell us in the comments for a chance to win.

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