Manipulator?

I was discussing a serious matter with my roommate the other day. We were in disagreement at first, but she quickly surrendered. Now I won’t bore you to death with our small-time domestic issues, but on this very instance it was pretty clear that I was right. Still, she felt the need to minimize her defeat by calling me a manipulator. She said I constantly manipulated her, but that it was OK.

My first reaction was one of surprise, followed by a perfect sophism: “If I really manipulated you, I said, you wouldn’t notice it, by definition. So you can’t admit that I was right and at the same time make the argument that I’m manipulating you.” She’s not exceedingly bright, and most of all doesn’t like to think when it requires some effort, so she dropped the charges on this one: “Let’s order Thai.”

This is not the first time it happens (we’ve ordered Thai before, but I am referring to my roommate calling me a manipulator). Being a fully-licensed introspective procrastinator, I had to further investigate. Am I a manipulator? Is it possible to be one even though you’re not aware of it? I guess that would make you the worst kind of manipulator: the neurotic compulsive manipulator. In other words, the manipulator from hell.

If I take a serious, objective look at my roommate track record, I have to admit I’ve been pretty lucky so far. Of course, the fact that I’ve always refused to have a male roommate certainly helps. I can only share an apartment with women. When you live with a man - or worse, many men - there usually comes a time when he thinks he can just pretend you’re not here, and then even the best friend you ever had becomes an absolute monster and a full-fledged domestic dictator. He will call it comfort, but this is simply unacceptable.

Conversely, if your roommate is from the opposite sex, you can feel as comfortable as you want in his or her company, but you’ll never let loose so badly. Shame is the beginning of civilization. So women only.

Still this bright policy cannot account for everything. My current roommate cooks for me, does my bed (yes, I swear), and even occasionally cleans my room. The girl I was living with before that used to take care of my laundry. She even shaved my beard once (I was out of blades, so she cleaned her own shaver and lent it to me, but I didn’t know how to use it). And the one before that used to make sure I was wearing a scarf during the winter time. Of course, I never asked for such favors. To the best of my self-knowledge, I never even wished for them.

So basically I have no idea what’s going on, but it does seems that the women I live with like to take care of me. Maybe something in my deeply damaged personality awakes their maternal instincts, or maybe all women do those things when you live with them and I naively think I’m the only man benefiting from it.

The worst thing is, if you return the favor too often, you may start a vicious circle of attentions and treats that will eventually tear your relationship apart or worse, entice you into sleeping together.

Or maybe I am indeed the manipulator from hell.