My little sister, our friend and I have moved in together. We’ve got a flat, with separate bedrooms, and they have full-time jobs, so when I say ‘together’ I don’t mean constantly, but if I plan things properly I still get to see them reasonably often.
When we first moved in, we tossed a coin for the best room. I won. This is a fact my little sister has been loath to let me forget. I recently was so cross with her constant sighing references to her lack of storage space that I approached her. ‘Emma,’ I began carefully. ‘I have an idea.’ She stared at me through the endless swamp of drying clothes that is currently her bedroom.
(Our housemate and I are pretty sure she is supplementing her doctor’s salary with an illegal laundry service. Either that or Beyonce-like, she changes her clothes 14 times a day.)
‘So you know how I have the biggest room,’ I told her cheerily. She glowered at me. ‘Well, why don’t we mix things up? We can turn my room into the sleeping room, and use yours as a walk-in wardrobe.’ My little sister stared at me. ‘You want to use my room as your wardrobe?’ She asked incredulously. ‘Well,’ I began slowly. ‘I mean, yes, but-‘ My little sister interrupted me. ‘Look,’ She said sternly. ‘We haven’t shared a room since I was 5 years old. Are you 5 years old, Lucy?’
I was not sure why I was being told off for my generous and accommodating idea, but I left her room suitably chastened. Like I said, we’ve moved in, but not really together.