Singing makes us uncomfortable

Last night was probably the last night the roomie and I would spend together in our basement apartment- our freezing, rather large, noisy basement apartment. I went upstairs last night to do laundry and our weirdo landlord emerged from darkness asked me, “Are you sure you don’t want to stay? We’re putting in new carpet! Huh, huh, huh, huh.”
Want to stay? Are you kidding me? You play acoustic guitar at 7 am. Your babies scream and holler and run around and just feed into my already ridiculous sleep depravation. Your wife vacuums over vents and makes noises that lead me to believe that the two of you might seriously want to consider marriage counseling.
And I’m moving in with my fiancé who pays his own mortgage, thus allowing me to pay off my student loans. Yeah, I think I’m pretty sure I don’t want to stay.
But if there is one place that will be hard to leave, it will be the place next to my old roomie. That place next to her in the mirror as we drink gin and tonics, getting ready to go out, that place across a table from her, where we talk about life over caeser salads with too much dressing. That place on the couch next to her, as we watch The Real World and laugh about farts or uncomfortable situations on TV, like when people sing. Watching people sing, especially bad singers, is really uncomfortable. No one understands that quite like my roomie.
Making the move towards starting my life with another person is exciting and new. But the start of something new inevitably means the end of something old. And our relationship will evolve over these next months, the roomie and I. We are like sisters, frustrated by talking too much during movies, messy dishes, shirts borrowed and stained, stories told and forgotten. I think we will stay like sisters.
And I think every once in a while, we will kick my adorable fiancé out of his very own home, to watch The Real World and laugh about farts. Just like old times.