I need to tell you about the yogurt.
Specifically, my yogurt. Greek yogurt. The expensive kind. I bought four containers every week because I eat yogurt for breakfast and I'm a creature of habit. And for three months, my yogurt kept disappearing faster than it should.
At first I thought I was eating more than I remembered. Then I thought maybe I was buying fewer than I remembered. Then I thought maybe there was a yogurt ghost. But the yogurt ghost theory seemed unlikely, so I did what any reasonable person would do: I made a spreadsheet.
Column A: Date purchased. Column B: Number of containers. Column C: Date finished. Column D: Days it lasted. I know. I'm aware of what I sound like. But I was spending $24 a month on yogurt and only eating about $16 worth. Something was wrong.
The data was clear within two weeks. My yogurt was lasting an average of 4.2 days when it should have lasted 6. That's 1.8 containers per week that I wasn't eating. That's $7.20 a month in stolen yogurt. Over a year, that's $86.40. That's a lot of yogurt.
I didn't confront my roommate immediately because I'm not good at confrontation and also because "I have a spreadsheet proving you stole my yogurt" is a weird sentence to say out loud. But then the cheese went missing. And the eggs. And my leftover Thai food that had a label with my name on it.
The Thai food was the breaking point. You don't steal someone's labeled leftovers. That's not a gray area. That's theft with intent.
I brought it up on a Sunday afternoon because that's the only acceptable time for roommate conflict. I didn't mention the spreadsheet because I didn't want to seem insane. I just said: "Hey, I've noticed some of my food going missing. Have you been eating anything that's mine?"
My roommate — let's call him Kevin because that's not his name — looked at me and said, "Oh. Yeah. I thought we shared everything."
We did not share everything. We had never discussed sharing everything. There were labels. There were separate shelves. There was a system. Kevin had invented a system in his head where everything was communal and then acted surprised when I noticed.
We ended up buying a mini fridge for Kevin. Not because we were rich, but because the alternative was me continuing to fund Kevin's yogurt habit. The mini fridge cost $80. Kevin's annual yogurt theft cost $86.40. The mini fridge paid for itself in 11 months.
If you're reading this while your roommate is eating your labeled leftovers: label everything, track what you can, and have the conversation before you make a spreadsheet. The spreadsheet works, but it also makes you question your own sanity. Trust me on this one.