I’m stuck in the box room of my house

It’s cold, small and I don’t like it.

I got landed with the box room in my flat. And it’s made living away from home a bit of a chore in many ways.

Do I love the girls I live with? Definitely. Is it one of the best experiences of my life? 100 per cent.

But do I feel ever so slightly fobbed off? Yes. Yes I do.

The fuck is this?

In among all of the stress of moving into a house that the previous tenants had tried their best to literally rip to pieces (the bathroom sink and electricity meter were ripped off the walls), I failed to notice I’d been shafted with the smallest room of six in the house.

Apart from leaving me with approximately two feet of living space between my bed and my wardrobe it’s also the attic room meaning I don’t even get the same amount of head room as everyone else.

We discussed it strategically as, at 5’2″, I’m only a foot off being classified as a dwarf and the smallest in the group. But even then my head actually touches the ceiling on the left side of my bed.

Despite being shut away in the highest room of the tallest tower – otherwise known as the third floor – it’s recently been brought to my attention I’m paying the same amount of rent as the others in my house who could practically do cart wheels before they went to kip if they wanted.

Anyone “crashing on my bedroom floor” is out of the question lest they be trampled to death by anyone else needing to move.

I can’t brush my hair without hitting the lamp shade on the ceiling (at this point I’d like to remind you I’M TINY) and there’s so little room for ventilation my smoke alarm has a tendency to go off when I’m putting deodorant on.

What is this? A room for ants?

So at any point during your day full of normal sized things, be it your height or your bedroom, please spare a thought for the tiny blonde in her tiny room where it’s also fucking freezing.