Can I have my flat back now, please?

I have a bad feeling what I am about to write is going to sound awfully horrible and bitchy. So I would like to point out that my flatmate’s mum is a reasonably sweet little old lady who means no harm and is probably mortified by the inconvenience she is causing. My flatmate is overall okay as well, as far as having a perfect stranger you have nothing in common with living in your flat goes.

Flatmate announced before Christmas that her mum was coming to visit. Parental visits shouldn’t be a problem and since my flatmate had to put up with my slightly nutty mother for five days, why not? Then came the catch. Her mother would be staying for seven weeks. That’s right, SEVEN weeks, as in: nearly two months. She would be sleeping on a specially bought futon in the lounge for that duration. Bye-bye lounge.

I think we’re currently in week three. Another month to go.

Any simple manoevre in the flat (like, trying to open the fridge or getting into the bathroom) has since turned into a merry game of ‘You go first!’ – ‘no! you go first!’ – ‘thank you thank you’ – ‘no problem’. I am reasonably polite and certainly polite to people’s parents. I am sure her mum reckons I’m quite a polite person. But … I am about to crack. I cannot deal with this any more. Even a simple task like trying to have my dinner in the lounge has turned into a major operation. During which flatmate and her mum exlaim ‘’no no! you must eat at the table! We clear our laptops away! No! no! please! Take a seat!’, when I was more than happy to eat on the sofa. By now I have taken to eating in my room. At my desk. It was too much to handle that sort of thing after work and whatnot. I am sure they have noticed my anti-social behaviour.

They’re also slowly taking over the flat. I lived in this flat for a year before my flatmate moved in. I never had a problem sharing cutlery and stuff with flatmates (as long as they don’t scorch my Ghostbusters plate or smash my Thundercats mug that is). But, new flatmate immediately divided up the kitchen. Two thirds of the storage place had to be hers, I got the remaining third. So I got a little trolley thing for the rest of my stuff. She started filling that up as well. We even use different washing up liquids and use either side of the sink for drying our dishes. Needless to say, I got the shitty, small side of the sink. The fridge is now divided into half. I never saw the point in that. I mean, I know what I bought and I know what I didn’t buy. And I have no intention of nabbing anyone’s food. Mind you, that doesn’t seem to matter now, because she has filled up my half of the fridge as well now. As well as the entire freezer. I have NO freezer space.

They have also taken to pile anything of mine that is anywhere in the kitchen onto my little trolley. Strangely, it’s okay for them to leave dirty pots on the hob, but if I do it, it goes onto my cutlery drawer. Today I found they stuck a sock into the cutlery drawer. Presumably a washing machine stray. But why chuck it into the cutlery drawer? I don’t understand.

Sometimes it feels like I am not really there at all. They take over the kitchen, they’ve taken over the lounge and keep moving my stuff around. I am 28 years old, I do not need my stuff moved around.

Then there is the weekends. Then it’s not just her mother and her, but also … her strange boyfriend (who always looks really angry and is not much fun to be around), her biochemist uni friends (three of them) and various other random people. They hog the lounge. They actually close the door to the lounge when they’re in there, which leaves me feeling somewhat out of place in my own home. I don’t mind flatmates having friends round, but do they have to behave like they own the place and I shouldn’t be there. When I live there, too?

Then there is the constant cooking. I don’t mind people cooking, but surely frying cabbage at 6am almost every day is a little odd? I have been waking up to the smell of that stuff for three weeks now, and I’m tiring of it pretty quickly. Yesterday they stewed an entire eel. I stupidly did some washing and left it in the hallway to dry. Half my wardrobe now smells strongly of eel. Eurgh.

Then there is the cleaning announcements. I have now cleaned the bathroom. Yeah, and? I cleaned it the week before, but did not make a big deal out of it. Plus, I actually cleaned the toilet, whilst you only clean the bits you like. They have also taken to washing stuff that is mine. Sorry, but why would you need to boilwash a handprinted sofa cover every week? I’m surprised the thing still has colour in it.

And if I leave anything lying around the lounge, it lands … in the cutlery drawer. Whilst my flatmate keeps two massive cardboard boxes full of assorted junk, half the contents of the Chinese supermarket and a load of other paraphernalia in the lounge on a permanent basis. And I’m too nice to say anything. Okay, maybe not too nice, but I really don’t want any hassle in my flat. I live there. I do not wish to live in a Cold War zone, thank you very much.

But, it’s beginning to really stress me out now. I cannot deal with all these people in the flat 24/7. And I’ll soon reach the point where I won’t be polite any more. Where I won’t just smile and nod and wait my turn in the kitchen/bathroom/lounge. Then I may snap at them. They won’t like it, I won’t like it either. Another four weeks of this.