Wonder how much mileage I can get out of her...
In the God-forsaken hellhole that is St Louis, I shared a flat with a fellow female student who seemed to have taken the view that as she moved in a week before I did and cleaned the apartment from top to bottom, she should be absolved of all cleaning duties for the duration of the lease. She didn't even use the toilet brush after she successfully basted the entire bowl with her excrement.

The defining moment was just after Christmas. I went home, and flew out a couple of days before she did, but returned a week before she came back to town. When I opened the door to the flat, I was hit by a wall of stench. She'd had a party the night before she went home for Christmas. But she neglected to clear anything up before she left. Three weeks earlier. Beer bottles were now welded to the coffee table (I lost absolutely no sleep over the sheer amount of varnish that I ripped off in the course of separating the two). There were dubious stains in the bathroom (and of course, shit smeared all over the toilet). The worst of it was of course the kitchen. She'd obviously cooked earlier before the beer started getting chucked around, and that was where the plates had remained.

For three weeks.

The friends who had picked me up from the airport were so horrified they took me back to theirs and cooked me dinner so I wouldn't have to eat in the cesspool that was our flat. To add insult to injury, she'd left a very giggly message on our answerphone saying she hadn't had time to do the dishes (not apologising or anything, just explaining why I came back to rotting cabbage). There were no flies, but she had switched off the gas in sub-zero temperatures, so I'm amazed they didn't all hatch the moment I stuck the heating back on.

Think it was at that point that my friends started calling her "skank ho" behind her back. I got my own back eventually though.
(Mrs Lawofnations, Sat 7 Apr 2007, 21:38, Reply)