Living with women: How to do it

Living with women is a challenge. Here is a few essential survival tips for when the oestrogen is raging out of control.

Up until my nineteenth birthday, the only women that I had lived with were my mother and my sister. Other than the occasional fist fight, this time passed relatively smoothly. Then I came to uni. Now all of a sudden I am in a place where unknowable amounts of hair product filled our shower, and unknowable amounts of hair filled our plug holes. And dryers. And dishwashers (why was there always hair in the dishwasher?!). This was a place where the suggestion to watch a Disney film was not sarcastic, and where the fridges were filled with health yoghurt. Now, halfway through my third year, I feel like I have learnt something from living with these strange female beasts. These are my tips.

Choose your answers carefully.


At some point, before a night out you may be asked your opinion about an item of clothing, or worse, an entire outfit. Contradicting what we are taught in our useless humanities degrees, there is no right answer. Assuming that you can’t fake a phone call or some sort of brain haemorrhage, be non committal. If you are asked which outfit you prefer, say you like them both. And under NO circumstances, answer in the affirmative if you are asked ‘does this make me look fat/does my bum look big in this?’ Women remember these things, and it won’t be an accident when you find a rabid fox under your bed.



At the start of the year you may be tempted to let a doe-eyed female take a chip from your uber-portion of carbohydratey goodness. Don’t. If you let it happen once it will be the bane of your existence for the next nine months. Set a strong precedent from the start and just say no. And maybe stab them in the hand with your fork.

Recycling is bad.


Never throw hair products away. If there is the smallest scraping of product left in a bottle it is ‘half full’ and cost ‘shitloads’. Just accept that you are going to have to shower with nowhere to put your feet.

Have an escape plan.


Sometimes women are grumpy. There is not always an explanation, and when there is, it is often an explanation that lasts thirty minutes and will have you more confused than when you started. When confronted with an angry female mask a hasty retreat with a vague hair compliment or the suggestion that there might be ice cream in the fridge. Then leave the house for 6-8 hours.

This paltry list is my entire knowledge of the female being. These flaws are a small sacrifice to make as women usually look, smell and are nicer than us men. They are also the only thing that prevents student accommodation from turning into a year-long FIFA marathon/martial arts film festival. We men are grateful (most of the time).