poop on mind

Yesterday, relations with the roomie kinda derailed, over the issue of his poop etiquette. He, literally, cannot take care of his own poop. Consequently, it takes somebody to notice his day's misdemeanor, which is usually MSR in the evening time, and do what's been left undone i.e. flush it down the pot. By this time, the poop has worked up quite a stench in the bathroom (#1), and it becomes a challenge to get in there, flush, and get out.

This guy apparently has no muscle memory of flushing his poop after pooping. In between the 5 seconds of wiping his ass and getting up from the pot, he has forgotten he ever pooped, and calmly walks away from the pot, that poop unflushed. How could somebody be like that, at 25! What a baby!

MSR has to take care of it (at least) twice a week, and he's not happy about it. Every evening, he walks in, to find questionable or no hygiene code in practice by the roomie, - issues like poop and more - and loses it. Every evening starts with imprecations to the roomie.

MSR enters a foul state of mind. The roomie gains bad karma. Nobody wins. It's all downhill. Our home becomes a segregated zone when roomie gets back from the office later and shuts himself out, trying to avoid a direct confrontation, anticipating further embarrassment. He doesn't talk, he skips dinner together, we don't roll. All coz of poop.

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