We’ve got a problem
Two very serious occurrences have recently happened, both of which have raised my anxiety level to factor 50.
The first thing is that Hat Guy has decided to leave a toothbrush at my house. I don’t know if it was by accident or if it was planned, but the ramifications of this move will be nothing short of catastrophic. For him.
Never ever ever leave anything at someone’s house, unless it was by accident in a haste to get the hell out of there. That’s the rule.
Leaving a toothbrush at someone’s house equates to attempting to get your feet under the table. And this is a cardinal sin.
You will remember the story of when I left the flat I was sharing with my brother to stay in the big city for two days. Upon leaving, he had what I presumed to be a one-night stand at the flat. I left happily with my overnight bag and a “Ciao” knowing that when I returned she would be gone, probably replaced by another one.
I never bothered to learn their names, not just because it’s really cute to have no idea what someone’s name is, but also because – why bother? They were never around long enough to care about. But unfortunately, upon my return to the flat I found the very same bitch in my god damn kitchen wearing my god damn vintage pinny (I used to wear it for making smoothies) and she was cooking fckin Shepherd’s Pie.
At first I didn’t even know what that was, but when I Googled it I was even more angry. The story ends with her being Shepherded out of the door.
And when my friend rang later that night and asked my brother: “How is Beth/Amy/Susan/Terri/Kate, or whatever her name was?” my brother said: “Oh she had to go, she got her feet under the table too quickly.”
Here are the signs that (some unwelcomed) feet are being placed under the table:
Toothbrushes, wash bags, deodorant and toiletries are being left at your house. Dude wtf?
Helping themselves to a glass of water. No. You fckin ask.
Cooking. First of all they shouldn’t even know where that square box that gets hot is kept, let alone start using it.
First name terms with housemates. If they ever call one of my house mates by their name they simply have to go. Although it would be a nice way to learn housemate’s names I guess.
Phone charger. I have a Genius Bar in my house. If, and only if, you are around long enough to need to charge your phone, you may use the Genius Bar. You may not bring your own.
So with all that being said, you can imagine the turmoil I was plunged into when he left a toothbrush at my house. I mean, I’m putting it down as an accident, mainly as he hasn’t texted me since we hung out earlier this week. He’s a prick anyway, so that problem should be fine once I get some Marigolds on and dispose of his toothbrush.
That boxer guy wants to take me on a date, but a date with him doesn’t really fit into my plans right now so I have thought of some ways to really fck it up if it does happen. Fortunately, the date is tonight, it’s now 5pm and I haven’t heard from him. Maybe I won’t have to think of ways to fck it up because mybe he’ll now be permanently silent, but I’ve gone ahead and thought of some weird shit I could do anyway. Just in case he comes through.
Wear the same outfit as him.
Take my boxing gloves.
Order one of everything, eat nothing except champagne (an oldie but a goodie).
Cry at the table over my dead dog – Ursula Britney.
Try to fck the waiter.
Take my therapist with me
Answer all questions with just the word: “Yes.
Find and take a parrot. You’d think it would be awesome at first. But trust me it really freaks them out in the end.
Cry the whole way through.
Throw a tantrum because the Menu in the restaurant has more than six items on it.
Tell him I love him.
Tell him I’m pregnant.
Srsly, really looking forward to my date tonight…