Recently, our house was astounded and in awe when one of our roommates came home with a snuggly, soft-to-the-touch-and-everything BEAR ONESIE. She bought it fairly cheaply, from where she works at Dunelm Mill, the posh department store. I have never been there, so therefore it must be quite posh, I assume. She works within the curtain department so I don’t know how she got to wandering down the snuggly bear onesie aisles.
Maybe they sell those as curtains. I don’t know. They would certainly keep the heat in. Although they’re so warm and cuddlesome I may have to resort to climbing up the windows, with people coming home and having to detach me from the vertical position of sleeping upon the said shut curtains. …
We loved her onesie so very much, that immediately, we started pestering (demanding, more like) that next time she was working SHE BUY ALL OF US ONE EACH. We paid her, of course. Now, in the house we have:
1) A dark chocolate female bear
2) A light brown chocolate coloured male bear
3) A deep, rich purple also male bear
4) A white chocolate female bear – which is me!
For better visual imagination, here’s a photo of the bear clan:
Don’t we just look awesome?
They’re so toasty that you barely even need the heating on – and being students – we don’t like to spend money on heating and gas when we don’t have to. It’s brilliant. The hot water bottle can go out the window too … figuratively speaking.
It’s great. I honestly never knew being a bear could be so much fun.
I told you earlier that there are currently teenage boys constructing forts and having nerfgun battles to the death in our house right now. So far nerfgun battles we’ve had are constituting at roughly 3 per day. I am apparently their backup.
We’ve also had squabbles, alcohol ramblings and coming home at approximately 2.30am last night.
I thought, to paint a better image in your minds of our weekend, I’d take a photo of the boys and the fort they made. It is actually pretty good. Our sofa is literally upside down right now, with a blanket smothered over it, acting like a gateway into the dark hole within.
Mal is up there too … somewhere!
They’ve calmed down for now. Give them xbox and they calm down. It’s what I’ve learned.
Food also helps a lot. There are crumbs everywhere.
Mal is also enjoying herself. She is treating the fort as her own little princess tower, I think and won’t come down.
She’s very happy.
As a mature, accomplished 19 year old university student, I have come home to a cold house under a seize of fire.
Currently, there are roughly 4-5 large, loud and extremely hyper 7 year olds running around the house, along the hallways, up and down the stairs; they’ve even built themselves a highly strategic fort in the living room so sofas have been moved around and I can’t get into the food cupboards. I cannot even reach my tea – so I’m saying goodbye to hot beverages and may have to resort to walking swiftly out to the shops every time I want a drink. These 7 year olds – or that is how they appear to be anyway – are in actual fact nearly grown men, around the ages of 17-19 years old.
They are incredibly loud.
They keep bursting into my bedroom, unannounced, screaming my name, and demanding I join them in their Nerfgun battle to the death. I don’t want to die today.
Despite being sold and marketed towards kids, those bullets seriously hurt if they speed headlong into say your eye.
Mal is happy though. Despite being ran through with bullets she’s taken to running round the house with them, attempting to play too.
What a right little soldier. She’s my little Browncoat.
But then they stepped on her.
Basically, this was me.
So I went crazy. She’s shut up inside my room with me now, hiding under the bed.
Recently, our student house has become spooked with tales of ghost stories. Particularly last night when we spent almost two hours in my dark bedroom by candlelight talking about the supernatural and all that. Weird coincidences, supernatural sightings and super freaky dreams. It had us hooked.
And so lately, we are determined that in our house we have a ghost. We’re not sure if they are a friendly run-of-the-mill Casper kind of ghost, or a ‘I will haunt you to your doom’ ghost, but even so, my boyfriend and I were scared enough to run upstairs holding hands asking our youngest female room mate if we could sleep in her room for the night. Whether you believe in ghosts or not, I am ashamed to admit that that move right there is particularly wussy – even if there was a freaking ghost in our house.
If we do have a ghost, I hope he just does this
We have not much evidence as of yet that we house a ghost in our humble abode, but we have a fair few reasons why we believe: I’ll let you read them, see what you think.
I have frequently emerged out of my bedroom to find my key has been taken out of the lock and is on the floor. This almost always happens when nobody else is home. Once it happened at night time, and I was, well, a little freaked out.
A few weeks ago, we were sat in the living room watching television (because we live the student life the hell up) and Mal, my kitten, came running in like a zooming spacecraft! She probably thought she was in a space shuttle like in Firefly. She suddenly ran into a standstill and arched her back up as high as she could and started hissing like crazy at something in the corner of the room. We couldn’t see it, whatever she was hissing at. But she was so freaked out. They say animals have a weird sense of these things, or whatever.
And just today, my roommate, Sam, was about to go out… (continue down!)
I heard him muttering behind me, cursing, but I was working so left him to it. I leave him to mutter about a lot of things really. Usually, they’re not very important. But he turned around, tapped me on the shoulder and said, “No way, Emily, I am not even joking. Look at this.” He showed me a funeral director’s card that had come from his pocket.
“Yeah, so what?” I answered.
“This was in my pocket. It was not in there yesterday because I always walk with my hands in my pockets. Why the hell would I put a funeral director’s card in my pocket?”
I suggested to him that maybe he did it when he was drunk. He adamantly replied no.
“I was wearing it yesterday and it wasn’t there. And I haven’t been drunk since new year’s. I didn’t put this in here.”
We looked at each other and, well maybe because we like the heightened drama, we wailed and exclaimed “AH GHOOOOST” at each other. I’m hoping it was a roommate playing a joke on him. He went out and then rang me about five minutes later. And he said that he’d found another funeral director’s card in his trouser pocket this time.
“I kid you not,” he said. “Where the hell are these coming from?!”
So, either it’s one of us playing a joke on him (which I really hope it is), or this house ghost has ordered him a death wish.