When Good Housemates Turn Bad
by Emma J. Lannie
I am thinking about all the times when I have not been a very good housemate.
Time one is when I tried my key in the lock of K’s door and found it to be an exact match. This is where it all started. This is the point where a good housemate turned bad.
Time two is when I used this aforementioned key to open K’s door and, albeit with help and a lot of egging on, proceeded to swap the Forever Friends posters around, before locking the door again.
Time three is when I covered every square inch of wall (and fireplace) in the living room with posters and/or tin foil, when K and J had gone back to their home towns for the weekend.
Time four is when I unlocked K’s room, opened one door of her wardrobe, and one curtain, then re-locked her room.
Time five is when I decided to make butter from milk by leaving a jar on the windowsill in full sun. For two weeks.
Time six is when I left the carved pumpkins on the fireplace long after Hallowe’en had been and gone. I knew the mould smell would drive K nuts, but I also knew that she’d be too polite to destroy my handiwork.
Time seven is when I named the pumpkins K and J and then smashed them in the yard.
Time eight is when I unlocked K’s room, closed one curtain and moved her slippers to the other side of the bed, and then re-locked the door.
I was fairly well behaved in my next house. Such is the difference between living with people you like and with people you don’t like.
Time nine is when I wished for E to die on a daily basis. Sometimes up to nineteen times a day. But she was a bitch. I’m scratching Time nine.
Time ten is when I mocked O behind his back for being an ice-dancer.
Time eleven is when I participated in the hacking into of O’s porn files. Well, I watched and laughed along, as L used drawing applications to cover up naked babes with ad hoc bikinis. And I laughed when SAVE CHANGES came up and YES got accidentally pressed instead of NO. But I was just there. I didn’t do it.
Time twelve is when I convinced W that the local name for a mix of chips and peas was a “Pea Bobby”.
Time thirteen hasn’t happened yet. But I have in my possession a plastic bluebird with a motion sensor, that sings “Zip-a-dee-doo-da” and flaps its wings when you walk past it. And I have a housemate with orniphobia and a door that doesn’t lock. And I am waiting, with such great, wonderful anticipation, for the day when he pisses me off.