In the spirit of Christmas
Flatmate thought it would be nice to send Cancer Man a Christmas card. Just to be friendly and neighbourly, and to show that there are no hard feeelings. So she got a pack of 20 charity Christmas cards and wrote out the same message that a million other English-speaking people write in their Christmas cards - Merry Christmas and Happy New Year. It was signed, From S. That was it.
And what do you know, back comes a card that starts, 'My dearest S,' and an effusive paragraph which goes on and on about her 'flashing smile', 'beauty', and 'incomparable hair'.
"That's it!" Flatmate exclaimed. "No more being nice and polite. He's fucking 60, you would think he would have learned a few things by now, but he has managed to creep me out again."
"Ughhh," I said as I read the card. "You're right. He is creepy. Does that line say, 'God's gift to us lonely men?'"
"No, I think it says 'lowly men'. Which makes it only slightly better."
I looked at Flatmate. "It's a good thing you're moving soon, isn't it?"
"Damn right it is."
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Moving on
And the reason for me Flatmate to be moving is because she will no longer be my flatmate. After nearly a year and a half of sharing a roof (or roofs, in our case), which only started because she was made homeless by a bedbug infestation in her own flat, Flatmate and I shall be parted as I pack my worldly belongings and finally, head home for good.
I think Flatmate kind of knew when I flew home two months ago for 'a break' that I would be staying there. I guess, in my heart of hearts, I thought it too, but found it hard to admit to myself. Change, is always hard to make, especially when you perceive it as giving up or taking a step back.
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And a ho ho ho
Neither Flatmate nor I celebrate Christmas but seeming as it is about the only holiday in England where you can have a big makan when people are not working, both of us decided to do a nice roast lunch for some of our friends. I decided to do the chicken while Flatmate agreed to sort out the vegetables. Despite not being a vegetarian, there were a lot of "Eeeeeee!" and "Eurrrghh!!" from Flatmate, mainly when I was stuffing the chicken.
"You're fisting the chicken," she giggled.
"You're so juvenile."
"Hee, hee,"she giggled again as I shoved more stuffing into the chicken's carcass.
"Ooooo, you're a perv, Kere, you like it, don't ya?" Flatmate went on.
"Shut up, you muppet, or I'll give you a fisting in a minute. And it's not the one you get up your ass."
Flatmate starts to dance around the kitchen, making faces and mouthing "You're a perv" at me.
"Have you got any string of some sort? I need to tie this chick up," I asked.
"Haw haw haw!" Flatmate guffawed.
"I think you need to get laid. Maybe I should get Cancer Man to come down here for you."
"Noooooo!!!!" Flatmate shrieked.
Hah.
Dinner went surprisingly well. I didn't burn the chicken, nor did I undercook it, except that the gravy I made from the chicken juices was so buttery I could feel it lodging in my arteries. Flatmate's sweet potatoes turned out to be a much better accompaniment to the chicken than normal potatoes and Abes brought a whole salmon which was absolutely gorgeous. Of course, we all ended up lodged on the sofas after lunch. We entertained the idea of going out for a walk but the wind was fierce and it was freezing, so we ended up watching a movie then playing Scrabble instead.
Me playing Scrabble is an ugly sight, as I get rabidly competitive and I love blocking openings on the board. Coupled with the fact that I've read the official Scrabble dictionary back to front and can throw more two-letter words at you than you ever knew existed, I am a force to be reckoned with. In the end, I came in second, but I could not begrudge that since it allowed me time with friends.
How I shall miss them.
Flatmate thought it would be nice to send Cancer Man a Christmas card. Just to be friendly and neighbourly, and to show that there are no hard feeelings. So she got a pack of 20 charity Christmas cards and wrote out the same message that a million other English-speaking people write in their Christmas cards - Merry Christmas and Happy New Year. It was signed, From S. That was it.
And what do you know, back comes a card that starts, 'My dearest S,' and an effusive paragraph which goes on and on about her 'flashing smile', 'beauty', and 'incomparable hair'.
"That's it!" Flatmate exclaimed. "No more being nice and polite. He's fucking 60, you would think he would have learned a few things by now, but he has managed to creep me out again."
"Ughhh," I said as I read the card. "You're right. He is creepy. Does that line say, 'God's gift to us lonely men?'"
"No, I think it says 'lowly men'. Which makes it only slightly better."
I looked at Flatmate. "It's a good thing you're moving soon, isn't it?"
"Damn right it is."
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Moving on
And the reason for me Flatmate to be moving is because she will no longer be my flatmate. After nearly a year and a half of sharing a roof (or roofs, in our case), which only started because she was made homeless by a bedbug infestation in her own flat, Flatmate and I shall be parted as I pack my worldly belongings and finally, head home for good.
I think Flatmate kind of knew when I flew home two months ago for 'a break' that I would be staying there. I guess, in my heart of hearts, I thought it too, but found it hard to admit to myself. Change, is always hard to make, especially when you perceive it as giving up or taking a step back.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
And a ho ho ho
Neither Flatmate nor I celebrate Christmas but seeming as it is about the only holiday in England where you can have a big makan when people are not working, both of us decided to do a nice roast lunch for some of our friends. I decided to do the chicken while Flatmate agreed to sort out the vegetables. Despite not being a vegetarian, there were a lot of "Eeeeeee!" and "Eurrrghh!!" from Flatmate, mainly when I was stuffing the chicken.
"You're fisting the chicken," she giggled.
"You're so juvenile."
"Hee, hee,"she giggled again as I shoved more stuffing into the chicken's carcass.
"Ooooo, you're a perv, Kere, you like it, don't ya?" Flatmate went on.
"Shut up, you muppet, or I'll give you a fisting in a minute. And it's not the one you get up your ass."
Flatmate starts to dance around the kitchen, making faces and mouthing "You're a perv" at me.
"Have you got any string of some sort? I need to tie this chick up," I asked.
"Haw haw haw!" Flatmate guffawed.
"I think you need to get laid. Maybe I should get Cancer Man to come down here for you."
"Noooooo!!!!" Flatmate shrieked.
Hah.
Dinner went surprisingly well. I didn't burn the chicken, nor did I undercook it, except that the gravy I made from the chicken juices was so buttery I could feel it lodging in my arteries. Flatmate's sweet potatoes turned out to be a much better accompaniment to the chicken than normal potatoes and Abes brought a whole salmon which was absolutely gorgeous. Of course, we all ended up lodged on the sofas after lunch. We entertained the idea of going out for a walk but the wind was fierce and it was freezing, so we ended up watching a movie then playing Scrabble instead.
Me playing Scrabble is an ugly sight, as I get rabidly competitive and I love blocking openings on the board. Coupled with the fact that I've read the official Scrabble dictionary back to front and can throw more two-letter words at you than you ever knew existed, I am a force to be reckoned with. In the end, I came in second, but I could not begrudge that since it allowed me time with friends.
How I shall miss them.
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