I let it slide the first few weeks, but at this point I’m about ready to cement our doors and windows shut. This definitely wasn’t in the roommate contract.
Sometimes I’m not even sure how she is getting into the room. But sure as dogs have 42 teeth, every night at 11 pm, my roommate’s mother is sitting on his bed, prepping his toothbrush for usage and spritzing rose water on his pillow. Now some part of me does feel touched by this motherly embrace of affection, but most of me wants to install a security alarm that triggers a bucket of paint to fall on her as soon as she worms her way into the room.
The worst part isn’t even that she sometimes seems to vaporize out of thin air in a puff of Febreze and warm cookies; it’s the awkward small talk she makes while she slides around the room like a human Swiffer WetJet Steamboost Mop. I’ll be sitting in my bed shirtless, doing my ESF by lamplight, and next thing I know I’m being questioned about my grades, how extracurriculars are going, and if I’m remembering to clean my ears daily. As much as I try to deflect the questions or yawn dramatically in an attempt to stave off her motherly attention, nothing seems capable of stopping her barrage of life questions.
I’ve tried to talk to my roommate about it, but he seems to treat it only as a minor inconvenience that she appears every night at his bedside; a shrug and a non-committal shake of the head is his excuse for his helicopter mom landing in our room every night. He’ll usually just roll his eyes at her, tell her about his day, and maybe they’ll share a game of backgammon or two, before she’s on her way with a kiss on the cheek for him and a wave to me.
At this point I’m not sure if there is anything I can do, it has become such commonplace. I might not have given it this much thought except for the fact that the tag on our door says he’s from Minnesota.