Holy Compatibility Batman!

B moved in sometime in December. And it would seem that 3 is indeed company. Even people as fiercely territorial as M and myself were done in by B’s charms on first contact.

I knew we’d hit pay-dirt somewhere in the midst of my first conversation with B. She asked if it were okay if she let a friend (and boyfriend of said friend) use her room for the purposes of – “Ahem, ahem” (a.k.a “Cough, cough”, a.a.k.a. sexual intercourse).

She said she thought it was okay.

M said he thought it was cool as long as they didn’t “cough” too loudly.

I said I thought it was great because… well… someone might as well be having sex. The closest anyone one in our house was getting to physical intimacy was being frisked at the metro station.

(I then launched into a slightly lengthy {and some claim plagiarized} monologue on how there really weren’t as many people “Ahem, ahem”-ing as there should be. If there were, there would be no war… Duh…

Of course to explain this hypothesis in its entirety and do justice to its various nuances I would need to write another post altogether. I’ll save that for another day.)

There it was – congruency.

Thereafter, the little doubt that remained on B’s suitability for flat-mate-dom was put to rest when B revealed talents of the following nature –

1. 1. The ability to turn pink when inebriated i.e. to be immensely entertaining.

2. 2, The ability to lose her hearing when inebriated i.e. additional entertainment

3. 3. The achieve the above mentioned state of inebriation after consuming remarkably small amounts of alcohol, making the entertainment extremely cost effective

M and I can scarcely believe how perfectly she has managed to blend into our version of happy domesticity (or lack thereof… seriously, we need an intervention. Our home is barely habitable. An army of moms would need to work around the clock for a week at a stretch to set right all the things that are wrong with our house).

As for M, being outnumbered by women seems to suit him just fine. I try to make him feel less left out by consistently keeping my room as messy and disorganized as I possibly can so as to accentuate the bachelor pad-ishness of the place. For his part M is more than meeting us half way. He patiently indulges our (read my) diatribes against men. He has been known to display great courage when confronted by women’s underwear strewn carelessly all over the place (again mine, an old habit I just can’t seem to shake off). Word on the street is he is now trying to grow a uterus.

Dear M,

Please don’t grow a uterus. We love you just the way you are.

XOXO