Gamiila (gamiila) wrote,
Gamiila
gamiila

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Mi casa, su casa

...is a pinciple I adhere to in theory; but one which I find works out rather differently in real life. The thing is, when you tell your guests, 'mi casa, su casa', you subconsciously expect them not only to treat your house and everything in it as theirs, but also to treat them as you would yourself.

After 5 days of playing host to Caroline, I was reaching the end of my tether. It's the little things that got to me. Why couldn't she f*cking well learn to close the toilet and bathroom doors behind her, for instance? Why couldn't she clean up after herself? And most infuriatingly, why did she use half of my jar of Lancôme Vinéfit as body lotion after she'd had a bath? I mean, of course she was welcome to use some of it on her face, but why would she want to put daycream on her elbows and feet? How could she not have seen the supersized bottle of Nivea body lotion that stood slightly to the right of my Lancôme that is far too expensive to use for that purpose? And why didn't she apologise when I called her on it?

Still, it wasn't all bad, and on the whole, I did like the company. But I must admit, that it feels heavenly to have my flat all to myself and the cats again. I think that the older I get, the more stayed in my ways I get as well, and I don't react to change as well as I used to. Or maybe it's just that I'm not used to having to take other people into account. I never normally have to fight over the remote!
;-)

Because she wanted to take the opportunity to schlepp home some of the possessions she'd left behind when she moved back to the UK a couple of months ago, after writing off her 3 years in The Netherlands as a total loss since she hadn't succeeded in finding a job she liked or anyone to shag, I offered to help her get all her stuff onto the plane. Loaded down with goods, we arrived at Schiphol. Caroline checked in and I left to catch the first train home. 2 Minutes before it was due, there she was in front of me again, red in the face and out of breath, with all her many bags around her. It turned out she was over the limit, and she didn't want to pay for the extra luggage. So we took out some stuff, and then I took her to the check-in counter again...where another clerk, obviously influenced by the spirit of Christmas, said she could take most of the stuff we'd taken out at no extra cost. Again, the items switched places in the bags and boxes, which then had to be scanned again before they could be checked in...in the end, she just made her plane.

A few hours later, she called to say she'd arrived safely in Birmingham...and that next time she came over, she would bring me another jar of Lancôme. I told her she's welcome anytime. I just hope it's not going to be anytime soon.
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