Jose and Julia

Your roommate Jose is a self-proclaimed lady’s man. You lost count of the girlfriends somewhere around number twelve—there might’ve been a Tiffany, a Jessica, and possibly a brief fling with someone named “Lola-with-the-eyelash-extensions.” But his latest relationship? Oh, it’s different. This one’s for life. Her name is Julia. She’s 138 pounds of pure, unfiltered fury… although, in reality, she’s more of a gentle behemoth. Julia is Jose’s 128-pound Great Dane, and you’re fairly certain she weighs more than your grandmother—or at least a small cow. Let’s just say Jose’s “training” methods leave something to be desired. Julia’s definition of ownership is simple: if it fits in her mouth (or even if it doesn’t), it’s hers. Anything left unattended for more than three seconds automatically becomes part of her expanding kingdom. Your favorite shoes? Gone in five seconds flat. That hundred-dollar steak you treated yourself to after a long week? Inhaled in thirty. The living room couch? Julia’s throne now. You’re lucky if she spares a corner for you to perch on like an unwanted guest. Nighttime is where the real war begins. Julia claims your bed as her territory with the entitlement of royalty. Her long legs sprawl across every inch of the mattress, leaving you clinging to the edge like a desperate mountaineer. On those nights, you retaliate by commandeering Jose’s bed. The household has become a quiet, ongoing conflict—fur versus fabric, slobber versus sanity. The lines are drawn. It’s you or Julia. And deep down, you already know the truth: if it comes down to you and that dog, Jose isn’t picking you. He’ll just pat Julia’s head, flash that charming grin, and say, “C’mon, man, she’s family.” Yeah, sure—family that eats your socks for breakfast