Living with Taryn started off great. She seemed like the perfect roommate—friendly, talkative, and reliable. At first, everything was smooth. She was always cheerful, quick to laugh, and full of energy. But as time went by, her true habits began to show, and they weren’t pretty.
One thing about Taryn was her skill in getting others to do things for her. It started small. She’d casually ask me to pick up a few groceries for her, things like milk or bread. But before long, the requests grew extravagant. She wanted fancy cheeses, rare fruits, imported chocolates—the kind of stuff that could empty your wallet in one trip. “Don’t worry,” she’d always say with a bright smile. “I’ll pay you back later!”
The problem? That “later” never came.
When I reminded her about the money, she’d laugh it off. “Oh my gosh, I totally forgot! I promise I’ll get you next time.” Her tone was always light, like it wasn’t a big deal. But it was a big deal for me. She owed me more than I cared to admit, and the promises kept piling up. Eventually, it became clear: Taryn had no intention of ever paying me back.
The final straw came when she told me about a party she was throwing. She handed me a long shopping list, filled with the kind of items you’d see in a magazine spread—premium wines, caviar, artisanal bread, gourmet cheeses, and more. She gave me some cash but said, “I’ll owe you for the rest. You know how it goes.”
Oh, I knew how it went all right. This time, I decided things were going to be different.
I went shopping as she asked, but I had a plan. Instead of buying the expensive items on her list, I picked up budget alternatives. For the premium wines, I bought the cheapest bottles I could find and peeled off their labels, replacing them with fancier ones I printed out.
For the cheese, I grabbed ordinary sandwich slices, carefully rewrapped in wax paper to look gourmet. The “exotic fruits” were just bruised bananas, apples, and oranges from the discount bin, polished up to shine. And as for the caviar? A small jar of budget fish roe was more than enough.
When I got home, I got to work. I arranged everything to look as upscale as possible. The wines went into sleek glass decanters, the cheese slices were cut and displayed like fine delicacies, and the fruit was stacked artistically in a decorative bowl. By the time I was done, it all looked like the luxurious spread Taryn had dreamed of.
On the night of the party, Taryn was thrilled. “Alex, this is incredible!” she gushed, clapping her hands. “You really outdid yourself.” Her guests started arriving, and she couldn’t stop bragging about her “gourmet” taste.
“Try the wine,” she said to one guest. “It’s imported from a boutique vineyard in France.”
Another guest picked up a piece of cheese. “Oh, this is my favorite kind—so creamy!” they said.
Taryn was basking in the compliments, grinning from ear to ear. For a while, I almost felt bad. Almost.
But then things started to unravel.
One guest swirled their wine glass and took a sip, immediately frowning. “Uh, this tastes… strange,” they muttered. Another guest nibbled on the cheese and stopped mid-bite. “This texture is weird,” they said, examining the slice more closely. Someone else grabbed a piece of fruit and bit into it, only to discover a mushy inside. “Is this… a bruised banana?” they asked in confusion.
The final blow came when a particularly eager guest scooped up a spoonful of the “caviar.” They tasted it, paused, and then exclaimed loudly, “This isn’t caviar! It’s fish eggs from the bargain aisle!”
The room fell silent. All eyes turned to Taryn, who was standing frozen, her face turning an impressive shade of red. She quickly pulled me aside, her voice low but seething. “What the hell, Alex? What did you do?”
I smiled sweetly and shrugged. “I bought exactly what you asked for—well, close enough. I figured you wouldn’t notice since you never actually pay for anything.”
Her mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. She had no argument, no excuse. She’d been caught.
After the party, Taryn was quieter than usual. A few days later, she handed me an envelope with the full amount she owed me from all the previous grocery runs. “I guess I deserved that,” she said softly, avoiding my gaze. For the first time, she actually looked embarrassed.
From that day on, she started doing her own shopping. She never asked me for another favor, and we lived in relative peace until our lease ended.
The moral of the story? If you can’t afford the gourmet life, don’t expect someone else to pay for it. And as for me, I learned an important lesson: sometimes, standing up for yourself can be as satisfying as the fanciest wine or the finest cheese. What do you think of the story? Share your thoughts in the comments below!