Deal Breakers...

Today we went off looking at houses.  It’s such a thankless, time consuming job.  Practically a whole day is gone and we’ve only gone through two. 

On the second place there was a line up.  A line up!  To rent a bloody house!  And that was one that although pretty good in size etc., fell over on the kitchen.  Sorry.  I cook.  A good kitchen is a deal breaker.

We both liked house number one, but I did wonder if it is a bit small.  Plenty of room for the Squeeze and I but he has a kid there on and off and we are not talking transient; it’s pretty regular – which means that is bedroom 2.

All of my family live somewhere else; be that in the country, interstate or in a whole other country.  Point being (and the kitchen prerequisite resurfaces here) when they come to stay we cook; we drink enough to down a horse – and then they stay. 

So bedroom three is basically needed to be a full time set up.  Hell; I haven’t even added into the mix that Boy 2 of mine comes up for a week or two when he has trade school and Boy one lives interstate.

I was tired before we began.  Clean freak hell does that to me.  When we are there, everything is harder.  Getting a straight answer as to “who is in for dinner?” so I can shop is hard enough. 

When I started coming here a year and half ago, I would clean before I started.  These days, not unlike right now, I don’t.  I sit in the bedroom (and the Squeeze has changed the bed in anticipation of my arrival so at least that is clean) and I blog; or read.  I don’t mind cleaning, and I’m good at it – but five minutes after someone walks in, it looks like a bomb has hit again – so there is no lessons if I do it.  Actually, there is no lessons if I do – because they don’t care if they live in squalor.

Last night I walked in and it was an utter pigsty.  One look around and I felt my nose creep back on my face.  I wasn’t sure if it was distaste or a snarl.

And when the light shone through the window, it highlighted just one thing.  Lying in a discoloured heap on the floor, was the squeezes Triumph t-shirt.  A Bob Dylan Special Edition; covered in God knows what and tossed to a corner.  Hell, it had dried so hard you could stand it up in the corner!  My anger levels rose…

The squeeze thinks this is a compliment…  That one of those heathens would wear his t-shirt to work behind the bar in a pub meant he is ‘cool’.  Idiot.  That only made me cool since I searched for the damned thing, found and imported it. 

And staring at it - I was not; fricking; happy.  It was a bloody hard find.  And this is a major problem in clean freak hell. 

There is no hygiene; no manners and a distinct lack of basic consideration for other people or their belongings.  Shall I make a comment on my jeans again here…?  Probably not since the whole world knows I became a pimp!  My jeans paid for that Idiot Kid 1 to get laid!  Who, I might add, even though he has moved to a place quite close to here – is still here all the time.  Cooking; leaving a mess; dropping things where ever the hell they land! Sleeping on the sofa.

Now Idiot Kid 2 swans in and steals a t-shirt that I bought the squeeze for Valentine’s day!  And it’s ruined!

I swallowed the anger and cooked dinner.  Hell, I may even have forgotten  it (I can almost hear the squeeze make a comment there…)  But no…  There it was.  2.38am.  Kid one and Kid 2 are home where they decide to laugh, put on every light in the house, cook, make more freaking mess and then turn the television up full blast – WFT?

So while house hunting today, I pointed out to the squeeze that there are several deal breakers on the idea of ‘Him; Me and a House.’

They are:

1.    Must have a good kitchen.

2.    Must have a bath.

3.    Kids do not get keys.

And of each of the deal breakers, number 3 is not negotiable.  I’m not living with them; and I’m not coming home to their mess and selfish bullshit.  And I won’t be changing my mind – not in this lifetime!!!!