Can you imagine the modern day version of Cinderella’s castle? Well we found it, fell in love with it and the Wicked Witch and fate himself have tag-teamed and announced an immediate sit in protest. Either that or the estate agent read my last post…
If fate was a person, he would be a control freak with short man syndrome, dreadful breath, a receding hairline and tendency to piss on other people’s parades. There was a reason for the TBC on my last post. I appear to have downed a hell of a lot of Limoncello and have been left with a bitter aftertaste and a slight hangover. I specifically didn’t post pics of the dream pad as I didn’t want to invite fate over for a cuppa. It turns out the little fella didn’t need an invitation and wandered in pulled down his pants and took a shit on our carefully made plans.
Short Man Syndrome: An angry male of below average height who feels it necessary to act out in an attempt to gain respect and recognition from others and compensate for his abnormally short stature. Also synonomous to little man syndrome.
It came as a bit of a blow. The short of it is (excuse the pun), the dream house isn’t ready yet. The house is, the current tenants aren’t quite ready to leave though, which is inconvenient as I’ve Pinterested every single room already god damn it, not to mention memorized the address! So to be honest I don’t care that the current tenants are in a pickle with their new build-they need to get the fuck out of my beautiful new house.
I’m not sure if I’ve mentioned that I’d been sharing a house with a modern day version of Stig of the Dump. I’m all for helping the community, but not when he’s sharing a bathroom with me and smells like the mixture of slept in urine, damp dog and toe jam. So I didn’t take the news that we may have to wait 2+ months to move, very well at all.
Tears ensued, along with the high pitched screechy talk that fashions itself out of pure despair. Cue emergency call to step-dad.
My step-dad is one of those guys who isn’t into hearts and flowers and talking about feelings but he’ll always try and find a solution, so he set us up with a flat whilst we wait for our castle. I was a bit peeved though as just as I’d finally stood on my own two feet, the sheepskin rug was cruelly pulled from under my knee high ensconced feet causing me to land straight on my ass again. With my parents entering stage left in snazzy capes once again.
The boy was amazing and tried everything to cheer me up, takeaway, wine, cuddles, sympathy, jokes. I wasn’t the easiest audience, picture Grumpy- of the seven dwarfs rocking up at an audition to play the part of the BFG and your half way there. In between being plied with sympathy from the boy and tough love from my stepdad, I realise this isn’t the end of the world as I know it.
So the next weekend we pick up the keys to our temporary flat and get packing. Well I go out for dinner on the Saturday OD on red wine and wake up being coaxed into a new day with a cup of tea, ibuprofen and two hot cross buns surrounded by what looks like the aftermath of a clothes bomb. Admitting to a hangover was a huge no-go but when I found myself wandering from room to room clutching a jug, a slipper and a spatula I realised I was in bandit territory and I was going to crash if I didn’t keep the caffeine flowing. This saw me stuffing everything and anything into the nearest box and piling into the SMART car with all of one box at a time and a portable cup of tea feeling like I was in my very own Disney tale..
“The Hoarder and the SMART car”
As there was no logic or labeling to our packing this has resulted in a new daily game of suitcase roulette which isn’t nearly as fun as it sounds. Causing me to rock up to work in hoodie’s for the best part of the week, this being the best possible option next to sequin dresses or Christmas jumpers which seemed to be my only alternatives.. Thank fuck I work in advertising.
The flat’s lovely but I’m still not completely used to having my own place and still have to check all cupboards for murderers each night on returning home from work. Also the fact that there’s a loft worries the hell out of me, I mean if you were a lunatic or psychopath where would you hide?!
Arriving home first last night (once I’d checked for murderers) I decided to light some candles to make the flat smell nice before the boy got home. Slight problem in not being able to find a lighter, but as we used to have to improvise by lighting the old cooker hobs using the one working hob and a birthday candle this was not going to stop me in my tracks. The only problem with this being that we had no birthday candles so using my initiative I rolled up a letter and lit it on the cooker which went up in flames faster than Lindsay Lohan’s acting career.
PANIC ensues of me running around before throwing candle, letter and fire into sink in complete blind panic attempting to get rid of any sign of mini fire whilst crashing around in an attempt to locate the lights. Which must have made me look like some kind of indecisive pyromaniac.
It’s going to take a few weeks to settle in and realise that the noise of the heating clicking on is not a psychopathic killer coming after me, it’s acceptable to admit to forgetting where I live on occasions and yes I may have to
strategically hide, chuck out some of my old clothes before we embark on our next move. But most importantly we’re living together, just us two and I will no longer get unwillingly high on route to the bathroom.. Rock on!
Peace, Love & False Lashes xo