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Disappeared *poof* just like that
Pix and I live in a split-level house with a number of other people. Mid-January two of those people who had become an item in their time together here moved out and the collective household sighed a sigh of relief. When it came time to chose replacements I will admit that the housemates and I were somewhat lax in our vetting.
And so it was that Graham moved in.
Graham obviously wasn't too worried about locking up after himself, so Fran and Ursula had a good look around his bedroom while he was out one day. His DVD collection included Spartacus and Dancer in the Dark, he kept a bowl of pot pourri on the mantle-piece above his fireplace and when he arrived the bathroom suddenly bred a myriad of peach bubble-baths and cosmetics. I'll leave it up to you the reader to conclude what all of that means.
Graham was the polar opposite from Matt. Matt would run a fat baseline sample through his speakers at two in the morning, have wild passionate sex with Adele for three minutes (from first grunt to final gasp, the walls are thin here) and cook greasy food in the frying pan. Graham would listen to easy listening music on wireless headphones, never made a sound after midnight and cooked well-balanced meals.
So I'm left wondering why the hell, in his mad rush to escape the household on Monday night at about eleven p.m. he made off with the best frying pan in the house, the bastard.
Footnote: My mother and -dad and their circle of university friends tell the greatest stories about midnight flits (when you move out without telling your landlord and without paying or leaving a forwarding address) but they must have raised me right because I see the practice as somewhat rude.
Mar. 6.2002