Letting someone into my heart is something I always do unconditionally, way too often and invariably with the wrong person; but hey one day I'll crack it. Letting someone into my home, well that is another matter entirely.
On Saturday my new tenant moves in. In preparation for this event I have decluttered my second bedroom aka my dressing room and returned it to the anonoymous shell it was when I first brought my house five years ago.
Standing in the room, I remembered how bare it once was, with nothing in it but my bed in a box and a single picture on the wall. Downstairs wasn't much better, having rented for years, I'd amassed four suitcases and three boxes as my sum total of worldly goods.
On my first night in the house, I remember crying with joy at the thought that no one could ever again tell me that I had to move out, couldn't decorate, have a pet or hold a wild party. Since then I have revelled in having my own space.
Not having to deal with somone else's mess, leaving my things wherever I want to, padding to the fridge in my bra and pants and not having to negotiate about who has the remote control or which side of the sofa I sit on.
After three false starts with female housemates whohad major league boyfriend (existing and revolving door ones!) and family issues, then of course there's the young lady who managed to block my drains with her habbit of flushing non-biogradable beauty wipes down the toilet, I had pretty much had enough, until S suggested I meet his friend C.
C is quiet, laid-back, calm, funny and quirky, and scored bonus brownie points for nodded in all the right places when I told him about M. Yep, C is the complete opposite of me, which is why I feel that this houseshare just may work. Oh and before I forget C loves to cook...no DIY skills though....well a diva can't have everything can she?
Just one last thing for those of any of you who read the blog and have your fingers crossed for that fairytale ending for me...of course I don't fancy C....sod's law right?
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