Potential flat mate & legal torture....

Monday 21st

I met my potential new flat mate this evening. What a bizarre situation. He came round to visit me in my wee bachelorette pad to suss out if he wants to live with me. I had about 2 hours to suss out if I want to live with him!

So Ben is a friend of a friend who seems a normal decent lad. So how do you decide if you are compatible to share a flat together? We are still at the polite stage.

When will the bum burps start?
Will he pick up smelly socks?
Will there be a problem with dirty dishes piling up in the sink for days?
Will the bar be drunk dry quicker than usual?
Will there be more wild parties than usual?
Will there be a problem with strangers running round the flat naked on Friday mornings?
Will the sounds of screaming coming from the bedroom on a Thursday and/or Friday if lucky, affect our relationship?
Do I want him to see my sexy undies and/or period pants on the washing line?

Actually, is this young boy brave enough to put up with me and all of the above???

Oh good god, I just had a thought, if I share with a boy, will I have to watch football in my own home!

Story of my life, young boys or older men. Where are all the late thirty-year-olds or early-forty-year olds? At home with their wives & kids watching paint dry probably….

Mairead is not leaving for another month so we have a month to meet up another few times and “suss each other out”.

I haven’t shared with a boy since I was 17. Well apart from the ones I was sleeping with or married to. And this time I won’t have to iron any shirts.

I guess the question is “to boy or not to boy” (oh groan, sorry its late!)

And the legal torture….

If anyone ever wants to get a secret out of someone, I have now discovered the world’s best torture instrument for guaranteed success.

And it’s legal.

Furthermore I bought it myself and applied it to myself willingly. And I have no secrets to tell myself. And to top it all it wasn’t flipin’ cheap.

Now let’s clear something up first. I actually have quite a high pain threshold for a girl. Over the years I have plucked, threaded, tweezed and waxed various and widespread parts of me with no more than a grimace and a wee prayer to get it over with quickly.

And some of these areas would make most grown men howl for their mammy at the very thought of it but these rarely publicly seen areas are the areas which are most trendy to wax in Dubai. Full monty or landing strip trendy and a regular necessity for bikini wearers.

That’s cool. I can handle that.

So what’s the new torture instrument that brought tears to my eyes you may ask?

It looks safe enough and promises long lasting results and smooth as a baby’s bum effects.

It’s simply called an epilator.

It looks harmless enough. Seems easy to use. It even has a light for hard to see areas.

In reality it’s a bum clenchingly, tongue bitingly, tear jerkingly, truly torturous most painful thing I have ever willingly done to myself.

If I had a boyfriend this could definitely be classed as S & M.

I don’t care if a once over with this innocent but deadly looking device means I will never have to do wax, pluck or tweeze again. I would rather poke my eye out with a sharp stick and watch The Proclaimers live for 24 hours straight with the good eye than use it again.

And its hardly something you can sell second hand.

I will be calling Jenny next week again. The embarrassment of someone coming to your house and poking and proding your wee lady to get every last unwanted hair folicle is by far the number one choice from now on.

I will never complain about waxing again.

Ever.