3WW (Budge, Nimble, Theory): A Happy Life

He’s a dancer. And, in my humble opinion, a narcissist. He bought this gigantic vertical mirror. And he stands in front of it for hours, flexing himself. Not that I care that much. It just seems ridiculous.

A two-bedroom in midtown costs a pretty penny, and after my ex moved out, I needed a roommate. Sure, my job pays that pretty penny and then some, but I’d rather not have to keep the place to myself and eat ramen or mac and cheese. So, I placed an ad in Craigslist. I, of course, received a bunch of replies almost immediately. The pictures and décor make it almost irresistible. I then set up a few interviews. First, I spoke to them over the phone. That weeded most of them out. And then the survivors came to meet me in person. A student at NYU whose parents were willing to pay her portion of the rent. A young doctor who would rarely be in the apartment because of his ridiculously long hours. And a dancer whom I had seen in multiple Broadway shows, mostly as an extra.

I weighed the options carefully. I have this theory that when faced with a limited choice, a person should always choose the least expected option, the good over the great, as it were. Because there’s usually some underlying reason why the good choice has advanced so far, but it’s never immediately evident. I therefore chose the dancer. Okay, so the fact that he has a nice body helps.

I don’t regret the choice. He’s pays his bills, stocks the kitchen, and generally keeps to himself. He even gets me tickets to see shows, something I greatly appreciate. But there’s something about him and that damn mirror that annoys the hell out of me.

I came home today and saw him with his nimble, naked body posing in front of the mirror. I couldn’t help but look since he has a beautiful, um, form. But there was something so unattractive about the whole scene. I didn’t hide my disdain as I headed towards my room.

Later that night – I think it was a Monday – I was watching television when my dancer roommate came out of his room to make food. He popped something in the microwave and meandered over to the couch to see what was on. He stood for a moment and looked back at me; he wanted to say something but seemingly couldn’t find the words. He retrieved the food and was about to walk back into his room but turned to me and said, ‘Have you ever stood in front of a mirror naked?’

I sat speechless, hoping that maybe the dancer roommate was having a crazy moment and talking to an imaginary friend. But he wasn’t; he waited for me to answer.

‘No,’ I replied succinctly.

‘Do you know why I do it?’

‘No,’ I stated, hoping he’d go away.

‘It’s part of my job. It’s as important for me to look into a mirror as it is for you to know how to do a vlookup in an Excel spreadsheet.’

I was surprised that he knew what a vlookup was.

‘Come here. I’d like to show you something.’

I didn’t budge. I tried to speak but couldn’t find any words. Instead I sat, looking mildly retarded.

‘Please. It’ll just be a minute.
’
‘I don’t want to ruin your dinner,' I replied.

‘Don’t worry about that. Come on.’

I stood and followed him into his room. He stepped in front of the mirror and began to pose, fully clothed. ‘How can I know if I’m getting the posture right if I don’t look in the mirror?’

I didn’t know what to say, so I said nothing.

He changed poses. ‘I need to know my body. What hurts. What needs stretching. What is wrong. And what’s right. I need to know how far back I can put my arm. Or how far out I can put my leg. I need to know these as intimately as you know your numbers or else I’m not going to succeed in my line of work.’

I remained dumbfounded, looking for some way to get out of the room.

‘Go ahead and stand in front of the mirror.’

I did. I viewed my baggy sweats, the sagging belly, the double chin, and the unkempt hair. I thought about the doughnuts every other day at work. The beers after work. The last time I went to a gym – about two years prior. And then I thought about the job I had, the money I made, the success I had achieved.

‘You keep your mirror and that body of yours,’ I said. ‘I’m quite happy with everything I’ve got.’

With that I left his room and sat back on the couch. As I snatched the beer from the end table, I heard the dancer roommate’s door close quietly.