My Duck Fetish Housemates and Where it All Went Wrong (Part Two of Three)

So needless to say I was finding it hard to deal with the knowledge of the duck fetish. I could barely make eye contact with anyone and I spent my days slipping out of the kitchen to avoid mentioning it. Tensions in the house started to rise. I think they knew I was freaked out by their bedroom antics and they started cracking down on the house rules. I would stumble out of the shower to the sound of a stopwatch beeping.

I was determined to make it work. It was my week to clean the apartment and knowing I'd insulted them with my comments about the "cleansing week" being religous I decided to make amends. I was going to make the apartment squeaky clean. So squeaky and clean that they would love me forever. I donned my cleaning clothes and got to work. I broke into the cleaning routine lightly. With a little dance around the kitchen to Dirty By Christina Aguilera. It's important to note at this point that I have a terrible habit of cleaning to my own off-key renditions of terrible pop-songs.

It might also be a good idea to mention that these renditions are complete with compulsive dance moves.

My housemates steered clear of the operation. They walked in on me scaling the kitchen cupboards and belting out a motivational tune and that was enough to convince them to remain in their rooms while I scrubbed.

I was determined. I cleaned and scrubbed and sang and cleaned and scrubbed and cleaned...

Until I was sure I had cleansed places no man had ever cleansed before.

I informed my housemates. Sure we would now, finally, be friends. There would be no weirdness about the duck thing. We would be united in our dust-free apartment. I was alarmed to find that was not quite the reaction my efforts resulted in.

I was then frog-marched into the kitchen. Where my housemate walked straight to the couch and ripped the cushion cover off of one of the cushions and pointed with a look of contempt at it.

But apparently he wasn't looking for the English word for the cushion. He was simply horrified that I had not hoovered the insides of the cushions. I stood gaping at him as he donned his cleaning outfit to show me how to do things properly.

After an exhilarating tour of the various dust traps in our house and a scintillating step by step guide on how to clean a skirting board I was still in shock.

When the tour was over he told me to ask him any questions I might have. So I did.

When he didn't answer I simply went on a small rant about his duck antics. How if I could put with the duck fetish, then perhaps he could be a bit lenient if I forgot one of the several steps involved in removing dust from the skirting boards. It became clear from the look in his eyes that he was considering the best way to dispose of me.

Figure Out Your True-Calling through Procrastination

Sometimes in an effort to avoid the necessary evil of whatever-it-is-that-needs-doing one can find their true calling. I've been using that one a lot lately, the true-calling theory, and have discovered that I could be a first-rate housewife, fitness planner, Facebook-stalker or cat lady. I'm not necessarily comfortable with any of these callings but they are there anyway. 

Disclaimer: These are my own personal tools of procrastination and in no way an indication of my lifestyle choices… 

1. Tea-Making: Endless cups of tea that I don’t drink. I’m not a fan of the stuff but if there’s something else to be done you can be sure I’ll need to boil a kettle and stir some teabags around a cup for ten minutes. Then sit, watching it go cold as I stare into space wondering what else I “need” to do before I get going with paying bills, writing essays, job applications … 

2. The Facebook Browse: But it’s not just a browse is it? Fast forward an hour and after boring myself to tears with the countless pictures of cute animals my friends share. I’ve fallen in love with some song writer half way across the world. I know the name of his dog, his soon to be ex-girlfriend and have figured out a way to meet him. The important thing to remember here is that I don’t act on this feverish acquisition of knowledge. I just pride myself on the ability to obtain it. Training for my future as an internet stalker for unhappily married couples. I could start a franchise? 

3. Routine Check on the Animals: I don’t even like animals. But they are here. So I feel obliged to communicate with them. This can result in a full hour whittled away trying to pretend the cats like me and getting the moronic dog to chase something other than his tail. 

4. Rearranging Clothes: When faced with something I’d rather not do I find myself folding clothes. Something I never do. Sometimes it even seems like I MUST rearrange my drawers. This involves tipping my folded clothes on the floor and then shaking them out and refolding them into different drawers to justify the chaos I've caused. 

5. Paperwork: This is a last resort when faced with having to make business type phone calls. I will first open my file. I do keep one, stuffed with receipts and bills and grown-up things. I generally avoid it, and then when I need to do something adult: I tip it all out to sort before I can get on with the task in hand. 

6. Starting a New Exercise Routine: This is one of those methods of procrastination that can take up hours of my time. First there is the planning. The decision to commit hours of each day to pain. But what kind of pain? How many days off? Targets? Goals? And then the first-step: day one of the routine. So I leave the house: stride down the road as far away as possible from what I need to get done today. I scare the neighbours by lunging about in the garden and collapsing in broken heaps, only to realise that this plan is too much, tomorrow I will devise a new one.

7. Event Attending- Fail at life and party or succeed at life and avoid party. In order to avoid become a balding hermit on a mountain-top with cats for company I normally justify the fail-at-life option.

8. Matching Socks: I become possessed by the need to find all my socks their original partner in crime. Given that I've long held the theory that socks are eaten by the washing machine this can take a considerable chunk of the day. But I’m a romantic, obviously, anything in the name of monogamy.

9. Mopping the Floor: This only happens when I have to edit my novel. I get a page in and then realise the dirt on the floor is distracting me. It must be dealt with now.

10. Channeling my inner TV chef: When duty calls you can be sure I will think of a reason to spend two hours in the kitchen contemplating what sort of cheese will go best with tonight’s dinner (never mind the fact that my choice is usually limited to feta or cheddar), mumbling to myself as I dice onions and devising new ways to cook potatoes.