Jack, My Housemate

Recently, I told my American housemates about my blog. I was informed that there was not enough detail included about my amazing housemates, specifically one Jack Philibert, who did the actual critiquing.


Jack is wonderful fellow, with a dry sense of humor and excellent taste in clothing. He goes to a smart kid school in Nebraska and is pre-med. (No Mom and Dad, I am not going to marry him.) Not only is he quite brilliant, he is frequently tolerant of Megan's and my antics, including cat sounds, shouting "Yeat!", random dance sessions, and girl talk. In addition to all of this, he is attractive and excessively polite, often reminding us girls to "not be so loud/American." A classy fellow indeed. Should probably be on the east coast somewhere, with a sweater around his neck and a glass of something fancy.

That's Jack and Megan, my lovely housies.

These facts being established, I may now tell you of our epic Couch War.

The set up of our living room is thus:
We have a long couch, a small couch, a chair, and two deceptively light-looking tables. In one corner is the tv. Across from the tv on the closest wall is the biggest couch with the best viewing spot. The short couch and the small chair are on the far wall, and provide a view of the tv that leaves something to be desired. For those of you with a more visual learning style, I have created the following text-diagram, where X = table.

TV                                     Sh
                                X       ort
                                          Co
                                          uch
         X
LongCouch                       Chair

Jack ALWAYS sits on the big couch while Megan and I ALWAYS sit on the small couch together. ALWAYS.

The other night, I decided I wanted to sit on the big couch.

This is a frequent conversation we have and it generally consists of variations on "But It's My Spot!!" and "You Don't Own The Couch! You Have To Share!"  the following two phrases being repeated over and over until I get bored or hungry, but this particular evening I was Feeling Sassy.

*Insert previously mentioned conversation, ending with something like "I'm going to sit here! There's room!"*
I sit on couch, a bit over the center line, but not close enough to be completely in Jack's bubble. He is still sitting in the best viewing spot, hence my getting as close as possible. We are eating dinner, so I cleverly angle the elbow of my fork wielding arm into his bubble, hoping to drive him away. (My egg sandwich needed a lot of dramatic cutting that night.)
*Death glare from Jack*
Jack lasts through most of my sandwich, then jumps up and leaves my immediate field of vision. I assume victory and lower my guard.

Mistake.

With the speed and agility of a viper, Jack switches the chair and the large couch, WITH ME STILL ON IT.

I don't know how I held on to my plate.

For revenge, I sit up in the edge of the couch arm and try to lean in to Jack's chair space with my plate while I finish my food, but not too close because he is wily and I am deeply suspicions that he may fling my plate away from him if I get too close.  Food > Vengeance

Seating now looks like this:
TV                                     Sh
                                X       ort
         X                              Co
                                          uch
        
            ChairLongCouch                      
I'm on the "L," Jack is cradled over the "a" and "i," which is precisely where the good spot on the long couch was previously located.
  

I finish my food and enact my counter strike. This consists of surprise ramming the big couch against Jack's chair repeatedly until it is in the corner and the big couch is nearly where it was.

Seating now looks like this:
TV                                     Sh
                                X       ort
         X                              Co
                                          uch
        
ChairLongCouch  
 
Unfortunately, I lack the stamina and strength to keep up the barrage, and Jack, smelling my weakness (or hearing me wail "I can't keep doing this!" and then lean on the couch gasping) pounces with a counter-counter reverse ram attack!

I hold out as long as I can, but am gradually driven back towards the corner. I can see that Jack is not going to stop ramming the couch until it is against the wall which I am currently standing against. To escape this unpleasant fate I clamber onto the couch arm and balance on my knees to get quickly out of the way. Insert squealing of "don't squish me don't squish me!" followed by "eeeek!" every time Jack hits the couch. At some point, I fell off the arm and landed on my face on the couch. Jack finally got the couch into the corner and then threw the nasty Floor Comforter over me, which induced more squealing and flailing of limbs. (Floor comforter has been sitting in the corner since previous entry about Irish Destructo-Bots)

Floor Comforter trumps all, and Jack Philibert has won this round.

Touche, Mr. Philibert, touche.