You know you’re sick of your flatmates when…

Musings of a Lincoln student who’s *slightly* fed up with his cohabitants


1) You get annoyed when conversations go deadly quiet when you enter the room

Don’t you just hate it? You enter a room with people talking so loud that you can hear the discussion about some barmy football match or whatever, they all look at you, and everything goes silent until you leave. Getting annoyed by this is a vital sign of being sick of the buggers.

They may attempt to hide from you or wear camouflage to blend in, just in case you do stroll in.

2) They decide to drag their weedy carcasses out to make some lunch, only to eat it in their rooms than in the kitchen where you’re eating your food…every…single…day…

It’s a bloody pain, and some of us know it. If you’re watching TV, they’ll usually poke their heads through, and in virtually no time they will slink back out since they’re a bunch of wusses. And that will really piss you off.

…but then you discover they went off to Playzone without inviting you. Those bastards!

3) You fantasize about being a bat-shit crazy killer, and your flatmates are the victims.

Have you ever picked up a piece of electrical cord or the chainsaw stashed in the shed in the back, and felt the need to go ballistic on them for all their bullshit you had to put up with? Don’t deny it’s never happened with you.

Not what I had in mind, myself…

4) The idea of spiking their food or drink with laxatives becomes increasingly tempting.

Unless you share a toilet, that is.

After it turns nice and brown, marinade the steak in the bowl of liquid laxatives for half an hour, and serve with chips and laxative-filled gravy.

5) You feel the need to replace them with a pet

A pet, such as a chilled out cat or a playful dog, is a great addition to a student’s life. After all, pets listen to you when you have problems, will be happy to see you come home, won’t leave piles of unwashed plates for three weeks before washing them, or have annoying parties in the lounge without you then feel the need to play that fucking awful Blurred Lines song at the maximum volume on loop for three long hours whilst you’re trying to sleep because of the big test over the horizon which– *ahem*. Where was I?

And they don't mind if you take photos of them sleeping...wait, that didn't sound right...

And they don’t mind if you take photos of them sleeping…wait, that didn’t sound right…