STRANGER THAN FICTION: RIVER OF ROOMMATES TREACHEROUS TO TRAVERSE

Some people are meant to have roommates and some aren't.

For example, when an acquaintance decried the lack of affordable yet decent rental housing in Cape Girardeau, I encouraged her to get a roommate.

She paled visibly.

"A roommate? At my age?" she shrieked. "I don't like living with people. I don't like people eating my food, I don't like eating their food. I don't like having their stuff around. I'm hard to live with."

No, really?

I'm more of a roommate person myself and have had six since the age of 19. I'm 26 now, so you do the math. The longest-term one was two years, the shortest was two months.

We've lived in $150-a-month trailers and classy duplexes. We've shared clothes, soap, food and one boyfriend, unfortunately. We've watched the late-late-late show together and screamed at each other.

The Other Half is a permanent roommate, which can be a little frightening. There's no trading up. There are no cleaning/dishwashing/laundry schedules posted on the refrigerator. We can't hang items on the outside door to indicate we're "entertaining." We're stuck -- for better or worse, richer or poorer, in crappy apartments and nice apartments.

That's fine with me, though. At least I knew all his irritating habits before we wed, a luxury you don't have with a random roommate.

For example, take my first set of roommates, two 5-foot-tall, 95-pound sisters. They actually borrowed my clothes. No, I'm not kidding. The older one had a penchant for floor-length, full skirts, so she'd take my knee-length ones, use a safety pin to size the elastic waistline to her liking, and cover the mess up with a long sweater.

The result was a bunch of size 16 skirts stretched out by a size 3 woman.

But that was nothing compared to the way she and her sister left. I was temporarily working in Chicago, mailing my rent and expense money back faithfully. Two months later, when I arrived home, the place was cleaned out and there was a note on the table.

"Heidi: We moved out. Hope everything is going good for you. Love, Lisa."

It wasn't "going good" for me. The note was covered in dust. I'm sure the landlord would have rented the hellhole if he could find anyone else stupid enough to live there.

At least she was kind enough to leave all the stretched-out skirts.

But maybe I shouldn't even complain. My buddy Lynn has the best roommate story in the world.

Fate and the University of Missouri-Columbia brought Lynn and Amee, a drug-using nut, together. She didn't seem like a nut at first, Lynn claims, but then things started to become clear.

For example, the electricity bill was due, and Lynn nagged Amee about it for a week. Finally, the day before the electricity was going to be cut off, Lynn gathered up her last few pennies and paid the bill on her own. She didn't tell Amee.

That night, they were sitting around the apartment, so the story goes.

"Well, Amee, they're cutting off the electricity tomorrow," Lynn said. "What are we going to do?"

"I thought of that," Amee replied. "I called my friend and told him to call us at 7 a.m. sharp since our alarm clocks won't work."

I would have strangled her. Lynn just moved out of the apartment and into her next roommate disaster.

But that's the nature of the beast.

~Heidi Nieland is a staff writer for the Southeast Missourian.