Eye of Newt and Toe of Man-Who-Drank-My-Beer

I am currently sitting in my living room listening to strange Indian music with the lights dimmed and a gingerbread candle filling the room with its musky scent and faint glimmer.

I would like my new roommate to think I am a witch. Then he would no longer steal my beer.

He has been living in the house for almost a week. I just met him last night. I asked B when the new guy was moving in and was informed he already had, days ago, and he was currently upstairs.

I thought, "Cool. New guy."

Then I went into the kitchen to put my groceries away. I opened the fridge to find (cue dun-dun-duhs): my four bottles of Blue Moon were missing!

I walked back into the living room and looked at B, who was resenting my constant interruptions as he was watching the Hopkins versus UMBC lacrosse game. I said, "B. Did our new roommate who I have never met drink all my beer this weekend?"

Blooked away from the television, rather sheepishly, and said, "Yeah. I'm gonna have to talk to him about that."

No one would steal a witch's beer.

I have to go. My tuna noodle casserole is boiling and bubbling in the oven.