Monday 12 November 2007

Eugh...

If men have ceased to be men, do we blame the state of society as a whole, or do we blame modern parenting skills (or evidently, the lack thereof).



About three Saturday’s ago, we had a house warming party to break in my new flat. We invited 30 people and ended up with just over 60. The poor little flat was packed tight. I can’t complain though. It turned out to be a damn good party; our party ROCKED! Of course we asked people to arrive for 8pm, so they would turn up sometime before midnight. We had the small chops laid out nicely, a clear punch and a dark punch, and neat little cubes of Tanqueray jelly.



How does my house-warming relate to parenting, gallantry and men? It goes like this: a friend of mine, proving to be a weak man of the worst kind, removed himself from the party and sat on the staircase shaking his head. He said he was exhausted and reeling slightly and that he just needed to breathe a while. He refused my offers of coffee, tea, ginger ale, water, anything that would re-hydrate him and flush out the alcohol. He didn’t look very bad, and we were even chatting/catching up on old times. I asked if he felt better, and he said slightly, so I said OK, come inside and rest for a sec, then wake up and join the party.



He lay himself down on my nice, new white linen, which I splashed out on just that week as a present to myself, and went to sleep. About half an hour later, I went in to check on him and he sat up and said, ‘Emz, I puked.’



Just like that. Emz I puked. As though he were a baby, reporting himself with glee: Mummy, I poo-pooed in my nappy!



Then I lost it. He didn’t even try to get to the toilet and puke there. Nooooo. What did he do? He lay there, wallowing in his own bile, like a freak. Needless to say, it soaked through the bedclothes to the mattress, dripped onto the carpet, splattered on my chest of drawers, and studded my sister and her flatmates' pull-along cases. Can you imagine? When I went to the window to get some air and calm down, his friends tried to get dramatic, like “ooh, don’t jump out of the window because you’re angry, calm down”. I was thinking, jump ke? Why would I dream of jumping, when all I can think of is pushing you out of it right here and right now?



I was like, oh boy, can’t you hold yourself? Haba! All the rice he ate that day, was spread out on my beige carpet and the room smelled putrid. With all the cleaning we did, we still need professional cleaners to come in and get rid of the stain. The quote: £50. Not the end of the world...



Can you imagine, I didn’t get an apology until the Wednesday, and even that was a text. You desecrate my room, and all you can do is text? Then on Friday I got an apologetic phone call, in which he presumed to tell me that he knew I had already found space in my heart to forgive him, and that he was too embarrassed to phone on Weds, which is why he texted. Whatever.



Now, here’s a question for you. Do I blame his upbringing for not teaching him that when you ruin something in someone’s house, you fix it? Or do I blame him, for allowing the laissez-faire approach to modern manners to emasculate his sense of duty?



If I puked all over your carpet a) I’d clean it up myself, out of sheer shame and b) I’d handle the cleaning and new linen linen bill so fast, you wouldn't know what happened. If you break a worthless, I dunno, side plate you say sorry and let it fly. If you break crystal or special china, you get on the phone and order up a replacement, even after you've apologised profusely! If you borrow a friend's top and burn cigarette holes in it, you buy her a new one, if you puke on the carpet, you get it cleaned. Basically if you wreak havoc on someone's house/belongings, you go ahead and get it fixed, unless you're specifically asked not to sweat it. But really, it wouldn't bug me if he broke something. I really wouldn't care. The reason I'm so upset is that this is vomit we're talking about. Gut juice. Vomit. Eugh. Of all the yucky fluids capable of leaving the human body, vomit is the one that grosses me out the most, and it's hard to accept that my space has been tainted with it.



The puke-maester said he’d come round on Sunday to sort things out. Have I heard from him since? No.



Without wanting to seem like a mean person, he's taking the piss. What bugs me, on principle, is his lack of remorse, his lack of awareness, that he has a social obligation to make things right. If he offered to handle it, he would have given me the opportunity to say you know what, it’s alright, don’t worry about it, but don’t you EVER do that again. But his brazen “I know you’ve already forgiven me” line…Brother, which oracle are you consulting? I haven’t forgiven nuttin’!



What annoys me the most I think, is there I am, being Little Miss Nurturing and Benevolent again, and what do I get for it? I get puked on. Insult of the highest order! And I haven’t been able to sleep in my room since…

4 comments:

Mpana said...

Oh no, with your hygiene paranoia! Gut juice...you have a wonderful way of turning my stomach Emz. Oh yuck, I need to open a window.

You're right though. But is it only guys who do this, or is it worse if it's a guy?

Anonymous said...

I didn't know guys or girls did this. Most people I know who have been sick in someone else's house have either had the sense to run to a toilet or clean it up their damn selves. Having said that, I will mention that a girl was also sick at our party and vomitted into the toilet without leaving a shred of evidence AND she apologised immediately.

Back to the boy in question, should you know him and be reading this, tell him to be a man about his and pay up to sort out the 'damage'. I don't like that my roommate now hates her room. Oh, and make sure that he sticks to Fanta.

Annie said...

Puking is gross, but some fool rolling around in his own er, "gut juice" on your bed? Please lemme pause b4 I continue typing...i just realized I unconsciously took off my earrings and I am reaching for my vaseline.

Ok, so how well does this person know you? I mean really, you can't expel your inner nastiness on anyone's stuff, but especially not on yours emz. Oh horror of horrors. Pele oh, I hope you get over this soon. I even feel sick 4 u:-(

Atutupoyoyo said...

There is truly no greater domestic atrocity than to puke on a carpet. As a victim of a similar act some twelve months ago, I feel your pain profusely. I, unlike you, did not have the privelege of discovering who the perpetrator was. I am thankful of this because, had I discovered his identity, I would have surely commited the kind of assault that would have resulted in some form of penal reprimand.

The transgressor is a knave and I offer my apologies on behalf of his sex.

 
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