Happy Birthday Mimosa!

In honor of my roommate’s birthday, a post. Most of you know her, but Mot Znuk suggested I hide her behind Mimosa, which I can’t resist.
For those of you who don’t know, Mimosa is gorgeous in that way that is almost unsettling. In Mot Znuk’s words: she’s so radiant and clean.

Story One: It’s Sunday morning and I’m coming home at 730 from a friend’s because I was too drunk to drive.
Except, I’m clearly still drunk and my hair is offensive and I’m holding my shoes. Mimosa is on the couch in a pink dress reading the Bible, radiant and clean. She takes it all in stride, which one of the reasons I love her: ‘Hi honey, how was your night?’ Say movies, say sleepover, say… “I got drunk,” I tell her and my bra falls out of my purse.

Story Two: Last night, we’re making grilled cheese sandwiches and listening to Bird. She’s telling me about how she’s been drinking fresh goat’s milk smuggled in by the Amish (seriously).
‘But it’s not as bad as smuggling in pot,’ she says.
‘What’s wrong with pot?’ I ask, flipping my sandwich.
‘Wait… Hannah, have you ever smoked pot?’
‘Um. A little.’
She takes a step closer to me, hesitates. ‘Hannah, I’d like to try smoking pot with you.’

She is, by the way, the absolute best roommate/person/woman in existence. And she knows I would do anything for her, including eating the yoghurt cheese with live culture. Happy birthday Mimosa! I’d tell you here that I love you, except it’s against Mamie’s rules—will tell you later.