Woe is freakin' me.

Internet, where do I even
begin?

The Roomie arrived back to
the Bumble-Fuck-Nowhere B&B late on Monday night, as I was tucked up in bed
writing about 18 year old boys.

"Any danger of a
smile?" I asked him, noting his dour expression. 

"We can't have that
room," he said, by way of reply.

I frowned. "The room
we have already been told we're moving into tomorrow morning?"

"One and the same. He
changed his mind. The room is only available from November now."

I turned on the gas and
went to stick my head in the oven. 

"Of course he changed his
mind," I reasoned. "He's Italian."

The Roomie and I had to
think fast. In a blind act of faith we had already settled our bill with the
owner of the Bed and Breakfast, promising to be out by morning. We thought we
had that room. The room that was my favourite. The room that had the great
location. The room that was in the apartment with two of the cutest specimen of
the male gender ever to have lived and breathed, a point totally unrelated to
this being my favourite OBVIOUSLY. It was the room we were counting on.

"We have an
option," The Roomie slowly suggested, eying me carefully.

"I DON'T UNDERSTAND
WHY THE UNIVERSE HATES ME," I yelled into my pillow.

"We could see if my
favourite is still free..."

The Roomie's favourite was
not even on the table for me. I didn't like the landlord, I didn't like the
space, and I didn't like that he liked it because as far as I was concerned
that made him an idiot.

"Okay," I said.

Within hours we were back
at the apartment I had absolutely refused to even consider, The Roomie making
deals with the southern landlord and me out on the balcony smoking a pilfered
cigarette with a guy who didn't even live there. In fact, I don't know who he
was.

That same guy is currently
stood in my kitchen making pasta, though.

We agreed a price and a
rental period, and I admitted to The Roomie with some benevolence, "Okay.
You were right all along. This is actually a pretty sweet place."

"My love?" he
replied. "I'm hardly ever wrong."

Uh-HUH.

We allowed ourselves the
celebration of a bottled coke as we practically ran back to the train station.
We rode back to BFN, threw every single belonging we had into boxes, suitcases
and bags- not forgetting to steal the odd towel and coat hanger- and within the
hour we were in the back of the B&B owner's car on our way to spend our
first night in My First Roman Apartment! full of space, 5 minutes from the
metro stop, and with not a tourist or over-priced panino in sight. 

That was yesterday. Last
night I slept on top of an old Sri Lankan pashmina in The Roomie's old work tee
shirt with a satisfied smile upon my lips. This morning I left My Roman
Apartment! and hopped on the bus to my first day of training for work. On the
way home I found bed sheets for ten Euro and skipped home in a Disney-style,
all kinds of sprightly readiness in my bones to go forth and nest.

Of course, then, the whole
fucking room had flooded- two inches of radiator water across the whole sodding
place.

I mean, it's MY ROMAN
APARTMENT! which is like, a gazillion times more fortunate than say, MY BOGNOR
REGIS APARTMENT! But still. A flood is a flood and with all great respect to
God, Shiva, Allah, Jesus, Buddha and Lady Gaga...

GIVE. ME. A. FUCKING.
BREAK.