Ah, the pitter-patter of little rodent feet
The flats nightmares are made of
I have mould-infested furniture, a door that captures the essence of indoor-outdoor flow and am lulled to sleep by the pitter-patter of rodents above me.
I have three duvets on my bed and there have been semi-serious mentions of getting a Winter Boyfriend just to have a warmer sleep.
Our flat has a chores roster and we all enjoy personal hygiene, but when you aim for the cheapest rent in Wellington, no matter how vigilant you are, your place will still get mortified reactions from mothers.
We make do with an ironing board for a table, egg cups for shot glasses and no bathroom door handle. We are probably a little too comfortable with one another.
Our landlord is a mystery. We think he/she might've died, but cannot be sure. I suppose we will find out for certain when the builder/plumber finally arrives as promised or when we hand over our lease.
We are, however, extremely lucky and privileged. We have made this place home and have been told it is 'kind of cosy.' If that isn't a shining recommendation I don't know what is.
All flatmates are friends and get along except for the occasional passive-aggressive note left to do the dishes or pick up after yourself.
I can now truly appreciate times when I have no chilblains, and the hard work that was poured into bringing me up in a happy, healthy home. I'm paying my dues and I'm happy to do so.
I also want to make sure everyone who comes after me goes through this pain.
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