When I first moved into the cozy two-bedroom apartment with Alice, things were great. We split the rent, followed a cleaning schedule, and even became fast friends. But after three months, the cracks began to show.
Alice stopped cleaning up after herself. Dishes piled up in the sink, her clothes were scattered everywhere, and the trash was always overflowing. To make matters worse, she’d invite friends over without telling me, and they’d leave the place in complete chaos.
Every time I confronted her about cleaning, she’d laugh it off or claim she was “too busy.” The tipping point came when she started calling me “Cinderella” and joked about me being her maid. The disrespect was infuriating, but I held my tongue—until her big date night.
—
Alice had a big night planned with her new boyfriend, Mark. She wanted the apartment spotless and *demanded* that I clean it, saying, “Cinderella, you love cleaning, don’t you? Make sure everything’s perfect for my big night. Who needs a fairy godmother when I have you?”
That was it. I had enough. If she wanted to treat me like Cinderella, I was going to show her just how much of a fairy tale her life could become—but not the way she expected.
—
As soon as Alice left to get ready, I got to work cleaning the apartment. I scrubbed the floors, wiped down every surface, and made the kitchen and living room sparkle. The place looked immaculate—just like she wanted. But then came my twist.
I gathered every piece of clutter Alice had left lying around—dirty laundry, shoes, half-empty snack bags, and all the random junk she had strewn about—and piled it all neatly in *her* bedroom. I even included the trash from the overflowing bins. Every stray cup, plate, and piece of junk mail went straight to her bed. To top it off, I closed her door so the mess was out of sight from the rest of the apartment.
When she got back, she breezed in with Mark, her heels clicking on the freshly mopped floor. “Wow, it looks amazing in here!” she said, shooting me a smug smile. “Thanks, Cinderella.”
I smiled sweetly. “No problem, Alice. Your room’s all set, too.”
Confused, she opened her bedroom door, and her jaw dropped. Mark peeked over her shoulder, his eyes widening at the mountain of chaos covering her bed and floor.
“What the hell, [Alice]?” she shrieked. “Why is all this stuff in my room?”
I shrugged. “Well, you wanted the rest of the apartment clean for your date, so I thought it’d be best to keep your things in one place. Don’t worry—it’s all your stuff, so you can sort through it when you have time.”
Mark stifled a laugh, clearly unimpressed with her meltdown. Alice glared at me but couldn’t say anything in front of him without looking petty.
—
After Mark left that night, Alice stormed into the living room to confront me. “That was so immature!” she snapped.
“Immature?” I said, crossing my arms. “You’ve been treating me like a maid for months. If you don’t want to deal with the mess, then maybe start cleaning up after yourself.”
To my surprise, she actually apologized—not entirely sincerely, but enough to ease the tension. More importantly, she started pulling her weight around the apartment. She didn’t call me “Cinderella” again, and the passive-aggressive comments stopped.
—
In the end, Alice learned that taking advantage of someone has consequences. And while the apartment wasn’t perfect all the time, at least she started treating me with respect. As for me? I learned that sometimes, the best way to handle a messy situation is to let someone deal with their own mess.
