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Summary
By the time I procured the key to my new living quarters, I was already on the precipice of regretting this entire endeavor. And then, as if the universe itself sought to test my limits, I opened the door to a scent both foreign and repugnant—maple syrup, sugar, and something that could only be described as artificially induced joy.
There, standing in my kitchen, flipping pancakes with the air of someone staring in their own bubblegum pop music video, was a girl so aggressively cheerful she seemed to radiate saccharine light. Blonde, beaming, and dressed in colors that made my retinas recoil.
I stared at her. She smiled at me.My suffering had officially begun.