I’m going to be homeless in a month. Ok, maybe not homeless in the way that I’ll be living in the street, but homeless in the way that I’ll be without a home.
Now I love Sheffield and would rather live under a bridge here than a flat in Paris, but I still like my comfort. Stuff like a roof and a shower for example.
I plan on crashing from sofa to sofa until I find a bed that will actually be mine.
Now there’s no mystery as to why I still have nowhere to go : I’m a pain. I know exactly what I want and don’t really want to settle for anything else.
I have very few parts of the city where I’d like to live, I want a flat, not a house, and more importantly, I want to live with boys.
I love girls when they’re nice but you have to admit, boys are so much easier.
They’re pretty simple. If they say something they usually mean it. They don’t overthink texts or situations or wonder whether these socks make their ankles look bigger.
They’re chilled and watch movies while eating pizza and don’t worry about calories or make-up or how clean their hair is. Living with boys sounds like a big holiday where we’ll eat burritos while doing shots and talking about rugby. I’ll be their wingman and help them pull while they’ll protect me from sleazy boys that I could fall for because of a nice accent.
It’d be like a backstage pass to boys’ minds.
It’d be the dream.
I guess I’m a girly girl in the way that I’m obsessed with boys. I’ve been into them since I was two and will probably still be when I’m in a wheelchair, rolling after some bloke with a Yorkshire accent. I’m a girl because I’m a lightweight, can’t do any sport without breaking a bone and I like clothes.
That said, my idea of a good night involves watching a rugby game while drinking whisky and playing pool.
Knowing this it only makes sense that I’d want to live with males. But as the days pass and July gets closer and closer I’m forced to notice that it soon won’t be about whether I want to live with boys or girls any more, but whether I want to live in a flat or on the streets.
But before it gets to that point I can totally keep being a spoiled, picky Parisian bird, right?