The house is full of extroverts.

And extroverts of the worst kind. Girls, all of them. Early 20s, not quite stopped being teenagers. And german.

The bathroom is full of girls' stuff. And stuff it is. Shampoo bottle to put on hair on Wednesday and Monday. Another shampoo to put on Thursday and Saturday. And so on. 2 types of conditioners, per person (3 extroverted young german females). Hair treatment thingies, which are not conditioners, but are like conditioners, whatever that means. Creams, one per person, to face, to lower posteriors, to legs, to toenails, and others which I feel too modest to talk about. Toothpastes, mouthwashes, breathsprays, flosses, electric toothbrushes, normal toothbrushes. Handwash, bodywash.

I have learnt to keep my eyes tightly shut when I use the bathroom...

The atmosphere is full of teenagey-cum-adulty noises. Worse, cos they are mostly german gutteral-cum-teenagey-young-girly sort of cool. Their voices ring out like sirens, as they call to each other, as they giggle the most awful, mind-shattering giggles that only extroverts can make. Their rooms are filled with music, or is it now called something else? It is an extrovert male, cool in his pain, shouting out, to some instrumental sound, 'oh man'. That's all the words to the entire 7.53 min song.

They fill the kitchen in their mini skirts, and spaghetti tops. On quiet, twilight filled evenings, they are at it, searching for and using the sharpest knives, and making their extroverted dinners. They drink, swear, and giggle, unmercifully, and talk in high, excited voices in german. Thank god for sparing me with small blessings, that I do not understand the conversation.

I miss my lasagne boy. He was lone, quiet, earnest, and very introverted. I send messages to him, come back, come back, keep your lasagne in the oven as long as you like, all is forgiven.

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