My Roommate’s Boyfriend Started Stealing My Food – So, I Prepared a Clever Revenge for Him

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When my almond milk, among other food items, started disappearing, I knew someone was helping themselves to my groceries. Confronting my roommate Tina and her dubious boyfriend Dylan revealed secrets and tensions, leading to a dramatic showdown that would decide the fate of our shared living space.

I couldn’t stand it anymore. Every time I opened the fridge, another one of my precious groceries was missing. It wasn’t the odd thing here and there; it was always the good stuff. My artisanal cheeses, my salami, and the almond milk I loved.

Jennifer’s artisanal cheeses and almond milk begin mysteriously disappearing from the fridge | Source: Pexels

I glanced at the fridge for the millionth time that week and sighed. Tina was sitting on the couch, painting her toenails bright red.

“Tina,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm, “we need to talk.”

She looked up, blinking. “What’s up, Jen?”

“My food keeps disappearing. Specifically, the stuff I pay extra for.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Are you saying I’m taking it?”

“Well, I’m saying Dylan might be.”

Tina’s face flushed. “Dylan? No way. He wouldn’t do that. Besides, you’re always so paranoid about your food.”

Tina, painting her nails bright red, denies any knowledge of the missing groceries.

I clenched my fists. “It’s not paranoia if it’s true.”

Tina huffed, her annoyance palpable. “Look, Dylan’s my guest. Don’t we share things in this house? I don’t mind if you take some of my food, what’s the big deal?”

“The big deal is I’m the one paying extra for valuable stuff, like the almond milk,” I snapped. “And it’s not just a bit. It’s everything.”

Tina rolled her eyes. “You’re so possessive.”

I bit back a retort, turning away. This wasn’t going anywhere. She was too smitten with the guy to see reason. I needed another way to prove my point.

Jennifer takes stock of her remaining groceries, noticing the untouched celery | Source: Pexels.

The next morning, I took stock of what was left. Oddly, the green vegetables, like broccoli and celery were always untouched. An idea struck me. What if I started cooking with those? I sautéed some broccoli and mixed it with my pasta, hoping it would make a difference.

For a few days, it did. I deliberately placed containers of left-overs of that stuff in the fridge, and it remained untouched. But the almond milk? That kept vanishing. It was infuriating. One night, I overheard Tina and Dylan talking in the living room.

“Jen’s such a control freak,” Dylan said, laughing. “She’s obsessed with that stupid almond milk.”

Tina overhears Tina and Dylan laughing about her food “obsession” | Source: Pexels

Tina giggled. “Yeah, I know. It’s just milk.”

I clenched my teeth. This was the last straw. If they thought it was funny, I’d show them how wrong they were. Dylan’s lactose intolerant. He wouldn’t touch regular milk. So, I switched the almond milk with regular dairy milk and left it prominently in the fridge.

I went to work the next day, feeling both anxious and vindictive. All day, I couldn’t focus, wondering what I’d come home to.

Jennifer, feeling angry and vindictive | Source: Pexels

When I finally did, I was greeted by the sound of shouting. Dylan was in the kitchen, looking furious and in obvious discomfort.

“Jennifer!” he yelled. “What the hell did you do?”

I raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“You know what I’m talking about!” he snapped. “The milk!”

Tina stood behind him, looking torn between anger and embarrassment.

I shrugged. “I switched it. Just wanted to see if it made a difference.”

Dylan’s face contorted. “I’m lactose intolerant! You know that!”

Dylan angrily confronts Jennifer in the kitchen | Source: Pexels

“And you’ve been drinking my almond milk without asking. Consider this fair play,” I said, crossing my arms.

He yelled at me that he was stuck in the bathroom for 40 minutes with diarrhea because of my milk; he was using it to make a shake. I responded simply with, “So then you are the one who’s been stealing?”

He freaking exploded. Yeah, he admitted he was “sometimes” drinking my milk, he thought it was “on the house”, but he was more mad that I switched milks than the fact that he was caught.

Tina stepped forward. “Jennifer, this is going too far.”

“Is it, Tina? Is it too far to want my food to stop disappearing?”

Dylan groaned, holding his stomach. “This is ridiculous.”

“No,” I said, my voice steady. “What’s ridiculous is you helping yourself to my stuff and then laughing about it behind my back.”

Tina looked at Dylan, then back at me. “Maybe we should just buy our own milk,” she mumbled.

“Maybe you should,” I replied. “And stay out of mine.”

Dylan shot me a venomous look before storming off to the bathroom. Tina followed him, throwing a final glare over her shoulder.

I stood there, feeling triumphant but also apprehensive. I could tell this wasn’t over, but at least I’d made my point.

The next morning, I woke up to an uneasy quiet. I went through my routine, half-expecting another confrontation. Instead, there was a strained silence in the apartment. I could sense Tina and Dylan avoiding me, which was just fine with me. Once again, I switched cow’s milk into my almond milk container.

Later that day, Tina barged into my room, rage etched on her face. Dylan trailed behind her, looking bewildered and a bit scared.

“Jennifer, Dylan has been up all night vomiting!” Tina shouted. “What were you thinking?”

I stayed calm, leaning against my desk. “What are you talking about?”

“You know damn well what I’m talking about! You switched the milk again, didn’t you?” She was shaking with anger. “Dylan got very sick. He could have landed up in the hospital!”

I shrugged. “I think I’ve made my point then. Dylan should not be drinking my milk. Period. Neither of you have the right to be mad.”

Tina pressed the issue, “But that was dangerous. Maybe he drinks your milk late at night by accident, how do you know?”

“I know he’s been stealing my food,” I replied, keeping my voice steady. “I switched the milk to prove it.”

Dylan’s face turned red. “You could’ve made me really sick!”

I raised an eyebrow. “And what about my groceries, Dylan? You think it’s okay to just take whatever you want because Tina likes you?”

Tina looked down, her expression shifting. “Wait, what are you talking about?”

I sighed. “I overheard you two the other night. Laughing about how I’m obsessed with my almond milk. Dylan, you called me a control freak.”

Tina’s eyes widened. “You heard that?”

“Every word,” I said. “And you know what? It’s not about being a control freak. It’s about respect. Respect for my things and for the effort I put into buying my own food.”

Dylan scoffed. “This is ridiculous.”

“No, what’s ridiculous is you thinking it’s okay to help yourself to my stuff and then mock me for it,” I shot back.

Tina looked at Dylan, her face pale. “Is that true? Have you been taking Jennifer’s food too?”

Dylan opened his mouth to argue, but the look on Tina’s face made him hesitate. “I might have taken a few things,” he mumbled.

“A few things?” I said, my voice rising. “Try all my cheeses, my salami…”

Tina’s face flushed with embarrassment. “Dylan, why didn’t you just ask?”

“Because I didn’t think it was a big deal,” he muttered.

“It is a big deal,” I said, my voice firm. “And you need to stop.”

Tina looked at me, then back at Dylan. “We need to talk,” she said, pulling him out of my room.

I closed the door behind them, feeling relieved, but also exhausted. The confrontation had been intense, but at least everything was out in the open now.

Over the next few days, the news of our confrontation spread among our friends. Dylan and Tina tried to downplay it, but most people sided with me. They understood why I was so protective of my stuff.

Dylan started staying over less frequently. I noticed Tina’s embarrassment whenever he did show up, and their relationship seemed strained. The atmosphere in the apartment became noticeably less tense. I felt more comfortable, like a weight had been lifted.

One evening, Tina came into the living room where I was working. She looked nervous but determined. “Jen, can we talk?”

I nodded. “Sure, what’s up?”

“I want to apologize,” she said, her voice sincere. “I didn’t realize how much this was affecting you. Dylan and I had a long talk, and he’s agreed to stay over less. I’m really sorry for everything.”

I smiled. “Thanks, Tina. I appreciate that. I just want us to respect each other’s boundaries.”

She nodded. “I get it now. I’ll make sure this doesn’t happen again.”

As the weeks passed, things improved. Tina became more considerate of my boundaries, and we reached a mutual understanding. Dylan’s presence became rare, and for the first time in months, my groceries stayed untouched.

I finally felt at peace in my own home. It was a hard-fought battle, but it was worth it. I learned that sometimes, a little ingenuity and a lot of patience are all it takes to set things right. And in the end, Tina and I were stronger for it, with a newfound respect for each other.

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