When I was asked if she could stay with me for a five week placement I was apprehensive.
My life of late has been so busy that my home has become my fortress of solitude; the place I go to escape all that stuff "out there".
I wondered how difficult it would be to have a flatmate for 5 weeks. I worried that I'd become so reliant on myself, that letting someone else in might be a stretch for me.
I needn't have bothered; the five weeks flew and we had a ball.
I wasn't around a lot; but that's my life right now. Tiffany took that all in stride, dealt as much shit as she got and (hopefully) enjoyed her stay. The neighbours gave me the sideways glances; hanging with a girl half my age, thinking the worst or the best; take your pick.
I'm not saying it wasn't fun watching their faces change when I explained the actual situation: mental self-chastisement in full swing.
I must tell you though, it was weird wading past the mine field of woman's underwear on the drying rack in the hallway every morning. My poor TV; subjected to any and every soap opera known to man between 5 and 8 pm every day, not to mention the in depth discussions on why I couldn't watch New Zealand's Next Top Model
Me: they're only 15 to 17 for God's sake, it's perverted !
She: So what, get over it !
So - before I knew it I'd let this monster in, and before too long my home stopped smelling of boys, and took on a more sophisticated aroma of girl/boy and (I think) many varied hair products.
But today the hair straighteners are packed away, the shower de-gunked of long blonde hair, and a calm has settled over the maelstrom that I have called hurricane Tiffany. No more jokes about the bookshop ringing to say my porn has arrive (read: computer mags), or the "taking it to the grave" secret pact about that one time we went to KFC because we couldn't be arsed cooking.
The scary thing is I think I'll miss her - or that might just be the KFC talking to ya.....
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