There is shit everywhere. Little tupperware pots – no lid on – crammed into the freezer and full of pineapple rings. A pot containing twelve pair of scissors. An entire airing cupboard filled with underpants and socks.
None of this stuff is ours. I’m trying to be gracious, but we literally have no room for our stuff because of all the color changing nightlights, drawers filled with tape and golf balls, and piles of precious paperwork everywhere.
This morning almost broke me. He’s all, ‘Don’t worry about the washing up. I’ll do it.’ He did his bowl and a few other things. He left a lot of stuff dirty on the side. I was like, well, maybe local custom is to only wash a fraction of the dishes.
You guys, YOU GUYS. Thank god he didn’t do more. As it turns out, he grabbed a cloth from the obviously dirty pile and washed our dishes with the cloth I had just used to wash the toilet.
Let that sink in.
He just won’t leave, and while he’s trying to make things nice, it is actually hard for me to relax. I can’t sleep naked. I’m not comfortable doing Zumba.
He has always been someone to overstay on a visit, but I don’t know if I can do this every week. Roll on the completion of the flat sale, because I need a car to get out of here.