The claiming of the lettuce

It seems my flatmate and I have some fridge-content related difficulties. It all began a couple of weeks ago where I accidentally used her milk rather than my own. Rather than merely see this as an accident, use my milk and move on, she decided to leave a stern note. Then, a couple of days ago, she decided that I had eaten one of her pizzas. No confusion this time as I didn’t own any of the product in question, nor did I actually consume said pizzas. However, I did get a rather surly text message accusing me of pizza theft. Naturally I protested.

So last night when I got in I was pleased to find no new notes, letters or memos, as these are the only form of communication that Seema uses when she is going through a stroppy patch. I thought it was all over and my denial was accepted. Imagine then my surprise when almost everything in the fridge is labelled either ‘S’ or ‘Seema’, depending on space. Considering the size of lettering used, there is not enough room for her full name on a jar of mayonaise, but plenty on a lettuce (pictured here). Lettuce?!? She labelled lettuce?

Now, obviously in her fit of pique she had managed to forget my own first initial. If I were moving out much sooner, I would have labelled everything remaining in the fridge also with a huge ‘S’. In fact, why stop at fridge contents? Washing up liquid? Dish cloths? Toilet roll? Maybe I should label myself?

Ah, the sooner I escape the hive of neurosis and pettiness the better.