Ok, my sister came over and we kind of drank a lot of wine in addition to the margarita and the gin and tonics I had around dinnertime. Whee, whatever. But Jill and I were in high spirits and decided to play a funny little joke on my roommate Roone.
The three of us were watching TV in his bedroom earlier. When Roone left to do something in the living room, Jill and I locked his door from the inside, tore off the shade he'd tacked to the molding (he sleeps until about 4 p.m.), opened the window, and (oops) sort of tore the screen halfway off the outside wall, jumped to the ground into the bushes, and ran around the house and through the front door giggling. Tee hee hee he'll be soooo pissed when he can't get into his room little does he know we can just go through the window and open the door for him hee hee hee etc stupid.
But then Roone kind of fucked up the momentum of the joke because he would not go back in his room. He simply wouldn't do it. He was watching TV in the living room, and he would not get up.
Up until now we thought we knew him. We really thought we could drive him back there through Roone psychology. We pulled out every trick that before now was proven Roone repellant and, we though, sure to drive him back into his now-locked room.
We sat on the couch and started talking. We talked about thick nasty periods. We talked about Jill's kind-of-dumb ex-boyfriend and his special qualities, which include, among other things, a passion for disc golf. We turned up the volume when a Bob Marley video came on. We turned it up louder for "Paper in Fire" by John Cougar Mellencamp. We giggled until I was hyperventilating. (Hee hee hee WHEEE WHEEE WHEEEE.)
Roone, from his green vinyl recliner, occasionally tore his eyes from the TV to tell us that we were stupid, annoying, and congenitally defective, but still he would not get up and go to his room.
Finally my sister made to go home, and Roone immediately walked back to his room. Jill and I stood behind him in the hall, waiting for all hell to break loose. We stopped. We shook with silent laughter and held hands. We listened. And Roone jiggled the handle, pushed the door gently, and walked right in.
The fucking lock was broken. Roone slid over his bed to secure the shade while we laughed harder than ever (hee hee hee WHEEE WHEEE WHEEEE). Then I asked Roone to fix the broken screen because I didn't have my shoes on, and really, it looked like trash.