Naked truth about housemates
By Sheryl-Lee Kerr
Living with the wrong flatmate, according to a London story, “often
spells disaster, with petty pilfering, shocking hygiene and blatant
promiscuity all frequent complaints”.
I think I speak for everyone who has ever shared living space when I
say: “Well, duh.''
In the survey for the BBC Essentials website, a third of sharers said they found the experience stressful and 15 per cent said they would live alone if they had the choice.
Top of the bad-habits list were messiness; the “borrowing” of
personal belongings without permission (especially food and alcohol); noisy roomies and those “with strange or disgusting personal habits”. (Sheeah - like there are any other kinds of personal habits?)
Also cause for a whinge was non-payment of bills and housemates
pairing up like possums on heat.
It is this last point - the nocturnal mating rituals of hormonally charged flatmates - which ultimately drove me crazy when I began house sharing. My first communal digs boasted the following flatmates:
1. A woman whose only dream was to marry (the now late) John John.
So much so that she had John F. Kennedy jnr's schedule all worked out for
their “accidental” meetings. (Call me nuts, but don't they call that
stalking in most parts of the free world?)
2. An often-injured motorcycle courier-cum-drummer who liked to
practise at midnight, usually with at least one of his mangled arms in a
sling. Thus, his drumming usually went “Bang, bang, ting, ow, bang, ouch,
bang...''
3. A deaf-mute Swiss exchange student who had a falling out with his
host family and ended up bunking down in our bathtub (we ran out of beds and he liked the tub). He turned out to be a great guy. (Not to mention very clean.)
4. Our 35-year-old, flatmate/landlord who drove us all to drink with
her sexploits.
The first sign we had she'd met someone new was the yelping
emanating from her bedroom, akin to a hyperventilating bagpipe being thumped against a small chihuahua.
One night, she was particularly loud. One by one, the rest of us gathered in the lounge room grumbling, and debating whether a cold hose or a mattress barricade as sound barrier would be more effective noise minimisers.
We decided both options required more effort than we had energy and we stuffed tissues in our ears instead. Next morning, I woke and stumbled out into the kitchen. To my surprise I found her conquest sitting there, eating his cereal. Naked.
I realised two things at that moment: one, it really is true that
some people do look better with their clothes on and two, I was now face to face with one of my uni lecturers.
I spent the rest of that semester staring at his shoes. Size 10 grey
Hushpuppies.
This explains why, to this day, Hushpuppies remind me of chihuahuas.
And why I now happily live alone.
Sheryl-Lee Kerr & The Advertiser, 07 NOV 2000.