I am writing you because you’ve been living in my shower drain for three days now and I think it’s time we had a talk. I hope this doesn’t come off as rude, (then again, I’m not the one invading other people’s bathrooms) but you are not really the kind of company I like to keep. Like, seriously, you’re the worst.
Granted, I could have worse flatmates. You don’t make any noise, you don’t steal food from my fridge, you don’t get upset when I play the same song on repeat for an hour an a half. But MAN are you a bathroom hog! I’ve had to wash my hair in the kitchen sink TWICE since you’ve “moved in.”
Maybe you moved into my bathroom because you don’t have any other friends (possibly because you ate them?). Maybe you, like me, think it’s getting just a tad too cold outside these days. Maybe you really just want to be my friend. I’d like to assume the best of you, but I’m really having trouble mentally getting past all eight of your legs (which I’ve counted several times because – let’s be honest – they’re a little obtrusive now, aren’t they?).
But because I would never kick you out into the cold (on account of the fact that I have absolutely no spine) I am going to pretend that you’re a prince in disguise and if I let you live in the drain long enough then I’ll break the curse and you’ll turn into a real boy and save Gondor or something. However, I think we need to establish some ground rules:
1. Do not leave hair in the drain – I’m pretty sure you have more than me at this point, so don’t even try to blame that nest in the pipe on me.
2. No eating in the shower – If I see so much as one moth carcass…
3. Respect the boundaries! – I promise not to flush you away if you promise to not go ANYWHERE near my toothbrush.
Violating any terms in this contract will result in my glaring at you even more menacingly than I am now and possibly even my Googling life-expectancy rates of arachnids. Yeah. Watch yourself.
Sincerely and somewhat begrudgingly,