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Epic Fails

Six Chemists, Three Kittens & A Soaring Globe of Phlegm Epic Fails

Six Chemists, Three Kittens & A Soaring Globe of Phlegm

Living with your pals during your second year of university is meant to be a joyous occasion. One filled with philosophical midnight conversation, homely dinnertime gatherings and a sociable carefree buzz. My first mistake was making this assumption. My second mistake was disregarding the mysterious behaviour of my fellow housemates at the expense of a very large chunk of phlegm…


It all started upon my arrival to the cleverly nicknamed ‘Ladford House’ on Radford Road. At first sight, the gaping hole next to our front door, which exposed an abyss leading straight into our basement, was horrifying. I instantly opted for the attic bedroom, four flights of stairs away from the (easily accessible) perilous blackness that loomed below the ground floor room. Jack, the 6ft rower bravely ‘took one for the team’.

So far so good, you might think. Well, things escalated pretty quickly.

After two weeks of harmonious cohabitation, the girls, Jo, Sarah and myself noticed that our milk went missing within days of buying new bottles. Unless we had a milk‐deprived ghost living in our basement, we had no idea where the milk was going. An instant assumption (I make these assumptions quite regularly) was that our three male housemates were sneakily drinking it instead of buying their own.

This caused a ‘we-are-poor-students-in-need-of-money-and-milk’-fuelled outrage between the girls and the boys. We were screaming that their calcium deficiency was no reason to turn to criminality within the household and they retaliated with “you’re overreacting, do you need a tampon?”

The argument quickly came to a halt when Sarah sneezed. A spew of sparkly green phlegm glided across the room, splashing across the armrest of our super stylish floral sofa. “What the hell was that?” was all we could mutter, and Sarah replied with four consecutive sneezes—all as gut-wrenchingly powerful as the first—erupting from her nose.

As the embers of our feud slowly burnt away, Sarah’s immune system enflamed and engulfed her eyes into a look of swollen horror; making her look a bit like a ripe tomato ready to spurt. Was there something funky in our milk? Were the boys trying to protect us?

Her ongoing battle with her sinuses was the cause of my kidnapping, which came two weeks after the famous ‘flying phlegm’ incident. It was the middle of the night when I heard hushed whispers (and may I say, girly giggling) outside my bedroom door.

Some shuffling and some bumping into things finally lead to the creaking of my door and a thin sliver of light emerging. I saw a tuft of short hair peaking round. I sat up slowly, “What do you want, James? And don’t say my sister’s number, again”.

Before I knew it I was lifted over Nico’s shoulder with a bag (quite possibly just a t-shirt) around my head and James shrieking from behind, “Don’t worry, Ange, we’re not going to hurt you!”

I was dumped onto Nico’s bed, my face uncovered, and before me stood all three milk thieves, looking almost apologetic. “We have something to tell you”.This is never the start of any great, enlightening conversation, but it was at that instant that I heard the squeak of a ‘meow’ echoing through the gloominess. All of a sudden four furry little feet emerged from underneath the bed, followed by another four…and another four.

Three little golden kittens stood side-by-side next to their three, awkwardly compassionate owners. Three tall, dark, handsome lads, obsessed with the gym, each with a protein supplement tub filled with condoms in their bedrooms, patting and playing with these tiny little kittens.

Well, I was surprised to say the least.

“Ange, we love them…but Sarah’s face…” As it turns out, Sarah has a cat allergy.

They did really love them though, and momentarily I think I loved them too. However, keeping them would have meant sacrificing Sarah’s desirability and our (large) house deposit. I was allowed to return to my bedroom with no ransom and the rest of the house was notified the next day.

Sarah was outraged. And by outraged I mean red-face-galore, spluttering and shaking in every possible way at the three offenders. The boys, with their heads bowed, mumbled apologies. They were each holding a 2L bottle of milk as a peace offering to us girls.

Over a bowl of Cheerios, we came together and decided to take Smudge, Django and Zoe to an animal shelter, where their diet would probably be better than bacon and discarded cigarette butts. However, this was not the end of our battle with our animal-loving men.

A year has nearly passed and our tenancy is slowly reaching its end, so naturally today is the day that I find out that I have been living amongst two rats (yes, actual rats) for the last five months. Rahul and Patrick. We may as well adopt a few chickens whilst we’re at it…wait, what’s that noise coming from the basement?

In Memory Of Smudge, Django(-unchained) and Zoe.

Written by Angela Babi

Chemistry Student @ University of Warwick

Image courtesy of Zaytsev Artem, 'Cat and milk'

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