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Man-prison

Living with a load of boys in lockdown is like being an Officer in an all male prison. I want a transfer. Or at the very least a significant pay rise (In fact anything that exceeds the current rate of ‘fuck all’ would be appreciated). I’m really not sure how much more male-ness I can take. The noise level in the house is unbelievable. Fights break out over nothing. The inmates each require time in separate cells just to calm the fuck down. You can practically smell the testosterone.

Except it’s not testosterone. It’s actual piss. There is piss everywhere. All over the toilet seat, on the floor, up the fucking walls. The bathroom is starting to smell like a festival urinal. I swear that one of them is spraying the walls on purpose. There is no way on earth that their aim is that outstandingly shit. It just doesn’t add up. All four males have great hand-eye co-ordination. I know this because they keep winning at Fortnite and Call of Duty. They can shoot a miniature pixelated stranger from miles away. And yet the toilet bowl seems to be too small a target.

I try and avoid the bathroom now. It’s worth the risk of my bladder bursting. It’s not just the pee everywhere that winds me up. There’s also the issue of the toilet rolls. Not a single one of them seems capable of putting a toilet roll on the fucking dispenser. Instead, they just balance a new roll on top of the last empty tube like some sort of cylindrical Jenga. I’ve considered hiding the toilet roll stash until they learn to replace the stupid things but I’m concerned this would backfire in ways I don’t want to think about. Or even begin to deal with. 

The kitchen isn’t much better. The boys eat and eat and then put empty boxes and finished milk cartons back in the cupboards, the fridge and the freezer. One of them complained today that we’d run out of cereal. When I pointed at the three boxes in front of him I was informed that those didn’t count because they were empty. WHY? Why can’t they just put the packaging in the fucking recycling bin? WHY? I’m well aware that people are dying and all of these things are ridiculously trivial. But they’re really starting to get on my lonesome tits.

I’ve realised that I really need other women around to vent to. I miss women more than I can say. I see my female mates on Zoom where we get together to compare our expanding waistlines. It’s like some sort of fucked up pre-natal group, except the bumps are predominantly pasta and we’re all clutching bottles of wine like they’re comforters. It’s lovely to see their faces but it’s simply not the same. All I really want to do is meet them in person. I need a lady hug while I cry into my coffee about the number of men I live with.


The only real female interaction I have is with my lovely next door neighbour. With 5 boys between us we get approximately 3 minutes to commiserate over the fence before I’m required to urgently deal with something happening in Man-prison. I genuinely look forward to seeing her each week at the NHS clap. We mouth ‘How are you?’ from our respective doorsteps and I pretend to shoot myself in the head.


If I can just work out which of my family is pissing on the bathroom walls I’ll aim at them instead.

 
 

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