Home Sweet Home Part Two

My hunt for a new house having been entirely unsuccessful, I was ready to give up. I had one more viewing appointment on my list and to be honest, I didn't want to go. I was so sick of being shown mouldy bathrooms, dirty kitchens and purely decorative dishwashers. I hadn't seen anything worth seeing and I had zero hope that this one would be any different. There is no way anything that cheap that close to uni could be even close to habitable.

I went along though, if nothing else just to reassure myself that staying in my current room was better than the alternatives.

Having already decided that I was going to hate the house, dislike the people and only take a cursory look at their sure-to-be scummy bathroom, I was very upset when I quite liked the place. Worse, I liked the housemates. And the bathroom wasn't scummy at all.

The problem was, how did I get them to like me? I went for the 'I'm really normal and you won't regret asking me to move in at all' approach. Which, for me, is very difficult, but I managed 45 minutes without mentioning my love of showtunes and dancing in my underwear, my feelings on cats and children (both should be banned) and my addiction to one liners and puns.

I guess it must have worked because one anxious hour later I had a call from Chris, the housemate, offering me the room on two conditions: that I didn't interfere with his morning shower, and that I didn't put poo in the washing machine.

And really, who can argue with that?