Monday, 18 July 2016

Cleanin' out my closet...

Yesterday, the husband and I schlepped up to Milton Keynes to take a look at daughter number two's new home from August.  I'm not too sure what I was expecting, but I was pleasantly surprised with the two bedroomed flat she's sharing with a friend.  It was a sensible home for a couple of young people in gainful employment.  Clean, tidy, in full working order and with a pile of instruction manuals neatly piled up on the kitchen worktop for all the appliances they have (even a dishwasher). 

I suppose that having visited her university digs several times and seen the state of that (and also her on occasion) I was quite used to the fact that the majority of her time was either spent sleeping, or with her head down the only loo in the house.  The last time I was there, about three weeks before she moved out, the kitchen had been cordoned off as a health hazard and the bathroom hadn't been used for weeks for fear of being attacked by the festering bacteria which had taken up residence in the shower curtain.  It always took me every ounce of self control not to take the rubber gloves and bleach with me when I went up there, preferring to stand in the middle of the lounge floor, equidistant from the walls and sofa while she got ready.

So now the big move starts.  Not surprisingly, she's not really interested in taking any of the skip-load of 'treasure' (crap) which was brought back.  Instead, she would rather go around my home, sticking post-it notes onto various pieces of my furniture which she wants.  What I haven't got, I will have to buy for her.  I will also have to buy replacement furniture for my home to stop it looking like a furniture shop in the throes of shutting down. 

Having left the flat, we then went on to drop the LSB (Long Suffering Boyfriend) back home.  This meant meeting his parents for the very first time. Daughter number two was very worried that the husband and I wouldn't behave, and might embarrass her.  Can't imagine where she's got that idea from, but anyway, we did our best.  Of course, we dropped into conversation that the LSB was very good at clearing the table after dinner and that they should be very proud of raising a son who's happy to muck in with the chores.

The look on his parents' faces indicated that a talk might be happening after we left...

LSB, I'm sorry.  I may just have ruined your home life for good...
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