My hips don't lie...

Pity me, for there are many evils in my life and the greatest amongst them is a man called Freddie, and he lives in my house. He moved in on Sunday, having met Laura and Jamie on Tuesday, and somehow got rave reviews from both of them. So I arrived back from the gym on Sunday afternoon to find both of them out, and the living room hip-deep with Freddie’s boxes. Freddie himself (5’11ish, muddy-blond hair, creased face, shirt tucked in to jeans) was standing in the middle of it all, hands on hips, surveying the chaos he’d created and listening to music that I hated instantly.

‘Hi!’ I began, brightly, shouting to be heard over the ‘electro’ (or whatever), ‘I’m Alice!’ He looked round and shook my hand unnecessarily hard ‘Hi; Freddie. Uh, you have something in your teeth’. I recoiled, affronted. ‘Oh God, really?’ ‘Yup’, he replied, turning away to fiddle with his enormous surf-board bag. I ran upstairs to look at my teeth in the bathroom mirror, only to find there was nothing in them at all, but I re-brushed vigorously all the same, wondering if it was appropriate to resent him for pointing out the phantom tooth-menace so bluntly – and so early.

I was inspecting myself in the mirror ahead of further interaction, when he loomed aggressively in the doorway. Without a word, he pushed past me and dumped a ridiculously big box, apparently full of Lynx, onto my sink, knocking over my electric toothbrush and Yin Yang cleanser.

‘Um, Freddie, there are already two of us using this bathroom, so maybe you’d find it easier to share Laura’s on the second floor’, I suggested politely. He leaned against the sink and ran his hand through his blandish blondish hair impatiently. ‘No, ‘I’ll use this one. Nearer my room.’ Speechless at his failure to take my gentle hint, I leant over to pick my Braun and my Yinners out of the sink. He, irritatingly, did exactly the same, resulting in a collision of our hands over the cleanser, causing me to step back too quickly and bump into the door-frame.

‘Alright, careful’ he remarked, apparently amused, putting my things into a bathroom cabinet. ‘They don’t GO in there’ I whined, annoying even myself, and prompting a disgustingly patronizing smile from him. ‘Well…now that there’s three of us using this bathroom, we’d better be tidier’, he explained, smugly. And then he stepped into the doorway too, putting his hands on my hips to move me out of the way, and bounded off down the stairs, leaving me gaping and flushed on the landing.

An hour later, battered by more of Freddie’s tearing around the house like a Lynxy whirlwind, rearranging cupboards and hoisting his hateful boxes with obvious malice, with me fluttering ineffectually in his wake, twittering pathetically and being routinely ignored and repeatedly handled, I had fled. I was sitting in Planet Organic opposite a hastily summoned Jamie, drinking peppermint tea and nibbling distractedly on Montezuma’s Creamy White Chocolate, an excellent alternative in times of emotional need to Green and Black’s Creamy Milk.

‘Look, Alice,’ he was saying, ‘I think you’re overreacting. He seemed like a really great guy - we thought you’d get on well with him. Wait till you get to know him.’ I stared at him. ‘JAMIE!’ (through a mouthful of vanilla goodness) ‘He’s a nightmare. He HIP-SWIVELLED me. FOUR TIMES! He has overtaken our BATHROOM.’ Jamie shrugged. ‘So use the other one and tell him the touching thing isn’t cool. Either way, he lives with us so you’d better make friends with him.’ I went home in high dudgeon, steeling myself for a prolonged turf war and slightly relishing the idea, but Frightful Freddie and his horrible boxes had vanished for the night. Thus far, our meetings have since been limited to awkward encounters in and around MY bathroom. He grins, shirtless. I roll my eyes, unimpressed. Oh yes. It’s war alright. Watch this space.