Piper Is My Roommate

Me: I thought you were writing a thesis!

Piper: I was! It’s really all I want to do. I just want to write a big-ass paper. I have so many thoughts! They’re all flying around and all I want to do is take them and write them down and translate them into English and hone it into something really special.

Me: ...Wait, you need to translate your thoughts into English? Your thoughts aren’t in English?

Piper: Well, they’re sort of...here and there.

Me: I had a professor once who said that cheese was the ultimate example of human-animal symbiosis.

Piper is discussing a classmate, of whom she does not have the highest opinion.

I have recently returned from my first trip to Mexico, during which I scuba dived for the very first time. Piper and I are deep in discussion about the important guidelines that constitute a safe and fulfilling scuba experience.

Me: Everyone pees in their wetsuit, Piper.

Devotees will remember that Piper has a fondness for applying the wisdom of French philosopher Marcel Proust to unusual situations. In this instance, we are finishing up Christmas dinner, a particularly delicious lasagna. Dinner has just finished up and a contented silence reigns.

Piper: This lasagna reminds me of Proust. He was always so happy and so sad when his mother came to kiss him goodnight.

After I compliment her new shampoo...

Piper: The manliest our family has ever been was when we were sitting next to the torchy fire. You know, the bomb…(Long pause)

Me: The bonfire?

Piper and I are on the phone.

Piper and I have just returned home for Thanksgiving after a long time away. I am rummaging around starting to get ready to make pies.

Me: Where are the cookie sheets again?

Piper: Here. (Shows me the drawer.)

Slight pause.

Piper: It’s not like you’re Odysseus.

I stop and stare at her, trying desperately to piece together the progression of thought. I am unsuccessful.

Me: Piper, in what way am I not like Odysseus?

This post technically comes from Thanksgiving. I inform my mother that Peter is trying to overhaul many of my treasured family Thanksgiving recipes, including gravy.

Mom: He WHAT?!? And he's trying to put a bunch of extra stuff in it? You know what, Bailey? Giblet gravy is like my oocyte maturation medium. It has three ingredients: store bought media, fetal bovine serum and FSH. And then you've got other people who put a bunch of estrogen, progesterone, IGF, EGF or LH in theirs. But you know what? We've got a higher blastocyst rate than any of them. And until they get a higher blastocyst rate than us, I am going to continue to use my oocyte maturation media, thank you very much.

(Long pause)

I am explaining to Piper my embarrassment about accidentally passing gas in the workplace.

Piper has come to Portland, is jet lagged and has eaten nothing but an entire package of string cheese. We go out for a drink and she decides to make a toast.

Piper and I are driving along our road in College Station. In front of one large house there is a huge sign declaring "JESUS IS THE REASON FOR THE SEASON."

Me: Yeah, Jesus is the reason for the season...unless you're Jewish.

Piper: Ha, yeah, 'cause in that case it would be Allah!

(long silence)

Piper: Right?

Me: .....

Piper is telling us about surviving for a few days on vacation without much in the way of food or drink.

Piper: So, yeah, I just bought a whole package of string cheese and some mangoes and that was about it.

Me: Piper, you're allergic to mangoes.