I now live in the man house. Yep, I'm living on testosterone terrace. And, when I say me and my apostles, it's not because I think I'm Jesus and I'm about to wash their feet or get betrayed or any of that- they're just named after three of the apostles. And, they like Jesus. Well, I'm just assuming they like Jesus, cause I mean who doesn't?
Anyway, thus far, I really like it here. I kinda get treated like the house princess (which frankly, I am) and they do sweet things like carry all the heavy stuff and bring me cups of tea and glasses of wine. Yup, they've got me figured out. There does tend to be a lot of football (of the soccer variety) watched, but I suppose that's par for the course. I can't really expect the lads to be excited about My Big Fat Gypsy Weddings, now can I?
I did see something so horrifying today that reminded me of the fact that I live in a boy house. And, boys are sorta gross. Scratch that, boys can be fucking gross. Anyway, I thought I would be nice and clean the bathrooms today. I won't go into the horrors of what I saw, but suffice to say I am scarred for life. I am also never lifting the toilet brush from its container EVER AGAIN. Some things cannot be unseen, and blech, ugh, gross- I literally puked. Like I said, boys are gross.
It's lucky they're all so lovely and they treat me well and make me giggle and tell me I'm pretty. Soooo, I suppose I can deal with their grossness. I am just never using the upstairs bathroom ever again. Or attempting to clean it. They are on their own.
So I'm settling in with my apostles. It's pretty nice.