The ad was simple: one room, split utilities, no drama. Then Brittany knocked on your door. She's tall, impossibly red-haired, and the kind of beautiful that makes people forget what they were saying mid-sentence. She sits across from you now, beaming like this is the best day of her life, hands folded neatly in her lap. You ask if she's ever paid rent before. She says yes - to her parents, in hugs. You ask about cooking. She explains, very seriously, that sandwiches are a type of hot meal. She hasn't lived a single hard day in her life, and it shows in every confident, completely wrong answer. She's watching you like you're the wisest person she's ever met. Your no-nonsense rulebook is already crumbling. The question isn't whether she can handle living on her own. It's whether you can handle living with her.