An attempt at fiction

I'm not good at writing fiction generally, but I have made a stab at it. Actually, I made a stab at it several years ago, but I just did some revising. I think it's better now.


Liz could hear her roommate talking to herself in the kitchen, rummaging through the refrigerator and mumbling about something. Now she was coming into the living room, and Liz quickly turned the sound up, knowing it wouldn't help but making the effort in spite of herself.
"Somebody ate my Kraft singles," said Jen. She held a ham and cheese sandwich at arm’s length, an expression of disgust submerged beneath one of mock patience.
"I’m watching Trading Spaces," Liz said cheerfully, hoping in vain that Jen might pull up a seat and be quiet.
"Elizabeth, somebody ate my Kraft cheese singles. They ate my Kraft singles, all of them, and left behind these cheap Giant brand ones."
"Look! They’re just about to show each other their new rooms."
"You know, everybody else in this apartment buys cheap stuff. Which isn’t to say there’s something wrong with that, there isn’t, but I bought KRAFT singles. Because I wanted some nice cheese, and some thoughtless person came along and ate them. And now I’ve got Giant brand cheese on my sandwich.”
She had slipped into the tone she used with the second grade. It came naturally to her, and was usually somewhere in her voice just never this pronounced, unless she was either angry or trying to win an argument. Right now it was because she was angry, and Liz tried to focus on Paige Peak, hoping that Jen would tire herself out in a minute; work the self-righteousness out of her system and then eat her sandwich. Jen, not to be brushed aside, stepped between her and the television. Liz would never find out how Wayne and Sally liked their new den.
"I spend a little bit extra because I want good cheese, and after two slices somebody comes and filches the rest of the pack. Is that fair?"
"Did you say filch?"
"Yes, filch."
"So that makes the thief a filcher?"
Jen had lost her calm, and Liz, having waited through the forty-five minutes of Trading Spaces that bored her only to miss the ten that she was interested in, was starting to do the same.
"You understand that they're both American cheese," Liz said, "that there’s absolutely no difference between the two?"
"If there was no difference, why would I spend more money for it?"
"I guess you like their ad campaigns."
"What?"
"K-R-A-F-T!" sang Liz, explaining.
“Not funny, not funny! One of my roommates is a thief."
"A filcher," Liz corrected.
Peeking out from behind Jen’s big ass Liz could almost see Sally reacting to her new window treatments.
"Teasing only makes it worse. I'm a victim here, I don't deserve teasing."
"I'm sorry. You know," Liz craned her neck in vain, "Courtney probably just used your cheese for the hamburgers this weekend. By accident. Don’t worry about it, we’ll buy you some more."
Jen crossed her arms and stared Liz down without blinking. She thought that this unnerved people. Maybe it did unnerve third graders.
"Make sure they’re Kraft," Jen said, sneering, and retired to her room where she would find solace in the Dixie Chicks.
Turning back to the television, Liz was just in time to catch the credits for Trading Spaces. Angrily, she prepared for A Dating Story by smearing Jen’s Skippy peanut butter onto some of her Pepperidge Farm honey wheat bread.