Rosita

I hesitate to mention how much I like Rosita, my new conjoined twin at work. I have a feeling if we work together for very long, our temperaments are so similar it can only result in disaster.

But we have followed anything but the same road.

She is Puerto Rican. She has a big brother and a little brother. When she found her landlord sitting in her (single person's) apartment when she came home early from work one day, her big brother had a chat with the landlord. It ended with something like, "...deposit back in cash NOW and if you even ever look at her again, it will be the last thing you ever see." With three of his very large friends backing him up.

She has two kids. She never married their father, but he sounds like a decent, go-to guy. I'm not so sure about the guy she's with now, but she seems generally content.

She has a house full of people and none of it bothers her. On the weekends, there could be two dozen people in her back yard, dishing up burgers and playing music.

We have made each other laugh so hard (but quietly! Very, very quietly.) that we snort and cry.

This is one of those thrown-together-with-no-way-out situations where luckily we get along.

I feel like such a big marshmallow, though, and she is one tough chica. (She wear Army boots to work. I swear.)

She has a total no BS attitude. Things are what they are. You don't like it, you don't have to stay here.

Oh. I just realize I have Rosie Perez as a cube mate.