This is a very quick story about bananas.
Before I agreed to marry Husband he lived with people other than me. Like his parents and stuff. But he also had some very lovely and gorgeous housemates, Rachael, I’m looking at you, and some who could have done more in the way of housework (Alex & Husband I’m death staring you BOTH). But there is a flatmate who definitely wins the prize for standing out in my memory. For a brief time NotYetHusband and best mate Alex lived with *Sarah.
Sarah was a bit out there. She seemed to revel in being a bit of an oddball and would enjoy making strange or inappropriate comments. Like the time I was alone in the house with her and she talked to me about my breasts for what must have been a full 10 minutes. Which is a long time if you think about it. She went as far as to say she was envious and asked if she could touch them. I declined. It was around this time that I started locking myself in NotYetHusband’s bedroom when he went out. Another time she followed NotYetHusband around the supermarket and copied his entire shop. Right down to the men’s deodorant.
Then one day NotYetHusband called to tell me that earlier that day he and Alex had returned to the house to find the entire kitchen filled with bananas. It wasn’t a big kitchen and there were bananas covering every surface, including the table and windowsill. They found bananas stashed in every cupboard. They set about counting them. 64 bunches of bananas. Yes, that’s right. Sixty four bunches.
When Sarah returned the guys calmly sat her down and asked why there were 64 fucking bunches of bananas in the kitchen. She explained without any embarrassment that she’d read that eating bananas could make your breasts grow (something to do with them containing oestrogen?). Ever pragmatic, NotYetHusband pointed out that she couldn’t possibly eat that many bananas before they started to go off. She seemed unconcerned.
There were some other non-banana related incidents that followed and in the end they had to suggest that perhaps it would be best if Sarah went to live somewhere else.
I haven’t eaten a banana since without thinking of her. 🍌
*Her name obviously wasn’t Sarah but in respect for her privacy and the safety of my knockers let’s just agree that it was.