My Roommate is Dating My Mom: A Letter to Residential Services
Dear Residential Services,Hi, I live in Elder, room 220. First and foremost, let me say that my roommate Jackson is a great guy. He’s probably the best friend I’ve made here, and that’s not just out of convenience. That said, we’ve encountered a few problems recently that I was hoping to discuss with you. Specifically, my roommate forgets to lock the door when he leaves and is in a blossoming relationship with my mom. I think it’s obvious why I’m upset about the key situation. When the door is unlocked, valuable items like my speakers are vulnerable to theft. Why not lock up just to be sure? Let me outline my concerns about the second issue, which may not be immediately clear.
When my mom met Jackson on move-in day, there was undeniable chemistry. All three of us went out for dinner after furnishing our room, and Jackson paid. He’s seriously a smooth operator, and seemed totally trustworthy—plus, I’m a real Mama’s boy. How could I complain when they exchanged phone numbers before she left?
And I didn’t really have any other complaints for the first few weeks. My mom stuck around for a few days; they went to coffee. When she went back to Lincoln, they Skyped most nights. He was a city slicker, yes, but a real gentleman. This New Yorker was doing it right.
But then, one day in October, I got a text from my mom. I quote:
“Hey sweetie I’m coming over tonight, could you stay out of the room till abt 4 am?”
I was a little disappointed to hear that she was visiting my roommate, and not me. But more urgently, I was sexiled. Listen, I understand that Jackson is allowed to have people over, but isn’t four AM a little late? I felt like he was encroaching on my rights as a roommate, so I came back at midnight. Two hours later, I woke up when Jackson and mom came home for the night. I don’t want to go into the explicit details of what happened, but suffice it to say that I cried in the hallway the next morning and have not been able to sustain an erection since that night. This was four weeks ago. Unfortunately, this was the start of a trend that has only increased with the passing of time.
My mom has flown to Evanston four straight weekends, and has essentially become a third roommate, but a real bad one. We don’t really have anything to talk about when Jackson’s gone, because she doesn’t know anything about the NBA or rifles. She’s usually just sitting there and we pretend like we don’t see each other. Once, she finished a half-eaten burrito I put in the mini-fridge. Another time, she told me I was too soft to take a pull of Yeager before we hit the quad, and when I did anyway, she grounded me. On top of it all, she asked me if I wouldn’t mind calling Jackson, two months my elder, “Dad,” which has some real psychological implications for me I am struggling to unpack.
How can I respectfully demand more autonomy in the room? Please respond ASAP.