I live in an apartment that, usually, houses three other women. We occupy one half of a three-story house that’s been divided horizontally into two units— first floor is common areas, then two bedrooms on the second floor, and two bedrooms on the third. It’s very spacious and lovely and ramshackle in a way that’s mostly charming (e.g. instead of a dining table, we have a pool table we cover with plywood and drape with a tablecloth) but occasionally inconvenient enough to justify the comically reasonable rent we’re charged (e.g. if the lower half of my window is open, the upper half will not stay shut, and closing the two halves simultaneously requires a stepladder and a co-conspirator). It’s a good place, I can say with confidence, even after being confined to it for 11 weeks with no end in sight. But I cannot guarantee I would feel that way without the support of my roommate
Endorsed: Roommates Who Bake
Endorsed: Roommates Who Bake
Endorsed: Roommates Who Bake
I live in an apartment that, usually, houses three other women. We occupy one half of a three-story house that’s been divided horizontally into two units— first floor is common areas, then two bedrooms on the second floor, and two bedrooms on the third. It’s very spacious and lovely and ramshackle in a way that’s mostly charming (e.g. instead of a dining table, we have a pool table we cover with plywood and drape with a tablecloth) but occasionally inconvenient enough to justify the comically reasonable rent we’re charged (e.g. if the lower half of my window is open, the upper half will not stay shut, and closing the two halves simultaneously requires a stepladder and a co-conspirator). It’s a good place, I can say with confidence, even after being confined to it for 11 weeks with no end in sight. But I cannot guarantee I would feel that way without the support of my roommate