Saturday, March 19, 2011
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.’
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!!!!
Posted by Mistress at 4:57 PM