Hot wash

My boyfriend’s ground floor flat was flooded last week in the torrential rain we had, and so he came to stay with me on Sunday night. Given that I usually spend most nights at his house, I was quite looking forward to a week or two without carting round clean clothes and underwear.

I awoke on Monday morning to see through blurry eyes the vision of a half naked man ironing a shirt for work, and a cup of tea for me on the bedside table - so that’s why he set his alarm fifteen minutes early. Brilliant, I thought as he offered to iron my blouse, I could get used to this.

But some things never change. I went to check my washing pile on Tuesday evening and was amazed at how full it was. This was because the cheeky git had brought all the dirty washing round from his flat! I made a mental note to put all his boxer shorts on a hot wash and shrink them. That’ll teach him.

I’m not sure why but I actually feel quite threatened by the amount of skincare products my boyfriend owns…I’ve heard of metrosexual but this is ridiculous! I’ve actually been stealing his expensive moisturiser- this can’t be right.

Now he can’t get to sleep without listening to music for an hour. Of course I know this, but usually he listens to his iPod (also damaged in the flood). As I lay in bed on Wednesday night listening to Enya on my stereo, I realised the very first task of tomorrow would be to buy a new iPod online. Express delivery.

The final straw was on Thursday evening as we watched a DVD in my room. I was actually thinking how nice this was…until he remarked on how my room could do with a hoover. Right, I need to do something, he has to be gone by the weekend, I thought. I racked my brain all night – watching a whole Sex and the City box set? Bikini line waxing? Something had to work.

This morning though my prayers were answered, as he put on a pair of boxer shorts…‘how can these be so tight?’ he exclaimed worriedly, checking his profile in the mirror. ‘I must have put on weight with all the food you’ve been cooking me. This is a disaster - I have a gig tomorrow!’

I had an email earlier (an actual email, I mean, how are we meant to survive without Facebook today?) to say his flat was now in a reasonable state to go back to, and thanks for letting him stay. No problem at all I replied, I’ll drive your stuff round for you later.

Hmm, apart from that horrible Kula Shaker t-shirt perhaps…

Still, my skin’s never looked so good.