EPISODE 4: Salty Salutations
Unusual as it is for your Uni tutors to up and out without a words notice and drop the entire course on a beach for a day… that is exactly where I found my unprepared, anti-tanned and unshaved ass earlier this week.  Naive to the consequences of the latter, I decided to strip down to my M&S in-sale undies and take a dive.  No matter how many Lad points I may have gained, nothing will restore my reputation and the scarred eyes of onlookers as I spluttered forth into an untimely, and freezing, wave that took both my dignity and knickers. And, of course, that ungainly image has tarnished me in the minds of my course’s entire male collection, who all coincidentally occupied the ocean. SOS does not do my situation justice.
Despite the unfortunate most unhappy occurrence of my… undoing – quite literally – there is one boy I simply cannot shake off.  Salt Boy, or so we shall call him, appeared one evening in the kitchen and since, has become so familiar he’s practically part of the apartment; a package deal I didn’t consent to when signing the lease.  What was once his worst attribute – a thunderous voice prone to operatic singsong – has now become the cue to make a bee-line to your bedroom when arriving home.  Innocent to his love of vocal exercises I may have encouraged Mr Salty to begin with, and even handed him my mobile number.  In return I received many a serenade and various differently phrased conversations about his hatred for salt, hence the name. A half drowned, butt-naked and salty me didn’t seem to throw off the scent, so gradually I’ve been decorating the kitchen in salt related items to put the boy off.  Today ready-salted Walkers graced the kitchen surface, and I ‘accidentally’ put salt instead of sugar in his
hot chocolate… Flat 26 had a quiet night in…
(Photo credits to tumblr.com, badsalad.com)