Dear female roommate:
You may not use my pots and pans without my permission. Adopting my pot for your personal usage and leaving it on the stove, complete with leftover leaves from your brussel sprout breakfast--and not even washing it when you're done--is inappropriate. I washed that pot for a reason, you know. The reason I washed it was because I wanted to put it away and get it out of your clutches. Apparently this is futile, and I will have to make sure I get up earlier than you do so that it will be washed, dried, and in my personal dish space for tomorrow morning. If it takes getting up at four, I'll do that. My pots are my pots, not yours.
My teapot is on the stove all day because I am ingesting tea all day. It's on the back burner, which isn't very convenient for cooking anyway, especially because most people other than me seem to live on microwaved horrors, takeout, and boiled greenery. You leave my pot--with your cooked leafy vegetable remnants--on the front burner all day, precisely where anyone who wants to cook is going to put a pan. Does this seem rude to you?
It is impolite to use up all of the toilet paper without replacing the roll. You have done this twice, now. The extra rolls are right there. Unless you're incapable of bending about a foot to the right, I'm not entirely sure what your excuse for this one is.
If you put your breakfast down the garbage disposal, why don't you run it? I was somewhat shocked this morning by the sight of your cornflakes and bananas. I suppose we both found them rather unappetizing.
There is a difference between leaving out some papers on the dining room table, which no one uses, and leaving your dirty silverware and disgusting empty takeout containers all over the limited counter space. That is disgusting. I don't care how little time you have, it is inappropriate to leave that gunk on the counter--and even more so for a woman who is probably at least thirty-five years old. I have an excuse. I am twenty, new to cooking in general, and still sometimes forget things in the heat of a stir-fried moment. You are not twenty, and there is a difference between leaving an empty, clean box on a table and spewing empty Chinese takeout boxes, still caked with yellow-green gunk, all over the small amount of available counter space. Overnight and, in fact, for about 24 hours.
Also, you laugh like a retarded child.
Love and bites on the face,
~Vector