I (22F) live in a small apartment and hosted a chill game night last Saturday—just some friends, snacks, Mario Kart, and cheap wine. Nothing fancy. I invited about 6 people, including my friend Nora (23F), who I love but who is very… artsy in that unpredictable, "I'm not quirky, I'm a movement" kind of way.

Anyway, about halfway through the night, Nora pulls me aside and goes, “Hey, would you mind if I use your bathroom for a short piece I’ve been working on? It’ll only take five minutes.” I thought she meant, like… to record something? I wasn’t really paying attention because someone had just spilled wine on my rug.

I said sure.

Ten minutes later, someone knocks on the bathroom door and Nora bursts out dramatically, soaking wet, in a white slip dress, holding a toothbrush in one hand and a peeled clementine in the other, humming some eerie melody I didn’t recognize. Everyone just kind of froze.

Then she says, “This piece is called Citrus Memory (Phase 3), and it explores how mundane rituals become sacred in isolation.” No one clapped. My roommate’s boyfriend asked if she needed a towel.

I took her aside again and asked what the actual hell that was, and she got super offended. She said I gave her permission, and that I “clearly don’t support her work” and was “being anti-feminist by censoring ritualized feminine grief.”

I told her she could grieve all she wants, but maybe not during my game night while she’s dripping water on the hallway rug.

She left in a huff and now she’s posting cryptic stuff on her story like “you can’t build in a house of shame” and “art is unwelcome where ego eats first.” A few mutuals have messaged me asking why I “shut her down.”

AITAH? I just wanted to play Mario Kart, not accidentally host an experimental baptism.