We’ve bought a new house. And our new next door neighbours (two delightful gentlemen) will not stop being nice.
- bought us a seagull proof refuse bag (yes, they are actual things)
- loaned us garden tools when we didn’t have any
- invited us around for Friday night drinks so we could meet the other people on the lane
- one of them brought me a bunch of sweetpea flowers that he’d picked from his garden
- and tomorrow he’s coming to cut our hedge for us with his electric hedge trimmer thing idk, and all I have to do is hold the ladder.
Basically, I am UNSETTLED and am now having to enter into an arms race of niceness and I am already so behind oh god.
Long story short - I just baked a lemon drizzle cake, and it looks great but I can’t even eat it because MR AND MR NICE MUST RECEIVE AN OFFERING.
ABSOLUTE CRISIS I GAVE THEM THE LEMON DRIZZLE AND THEN THEY INVITED ME IN TO HAVE A SLICE AND A COFFEE WITH THEM AND GAVE ME A TOUR OF THEIR HOUSE AND LET ME HOLD THEIR PUPPY. AND THEN THEY CAME AROUND TO HELP ME BAG UP THE HEDGE CLIPPINGS. THESE MEN ARE NICENESS PROS AND I CANNOT WIN.
HELP WE HAD AN HOUR LONG POWER CUT ON THE STREET AND IN THAT TIME THE OTHER MR NICE CAME AROUND WITH MATCHES AND CANDLES ‘JUST IN CASE YOU DIDN’T HAVE ANY’. IT WAS BARELY DARK.
BASTARDS - I’M GOING TO HAVE TO HOST A DINNER PARTY AREN’T I?
The Gay Agenda, everyone.
this is fucking i n c r e d i b l e
Imagine your otps
Just so everyone knows -
Mr and Mr Nice moved out around Christmas time 2016. (Further proof that 2016 was a cursed year)
We are still in touch and have been to visit them in their new house. They moved to gain some land, they have sheep aspirations for some reason. I love them.
We have new neighbours. I am currently engaged in a slow burn of niceness, which you can bet that I am going to crank up to the max when we move down permanently in June.
I WILL BE THE NICE ONE THIS TIME. PRE-EMPTIVE STRIKE. NO MERCY.
I feel like this might be how the cycle started in the first place
some time in my first month of living in england i was making myself some chicken for dinner and my flatmate walked in and said “oh, you’re making tea?” and i don’t remember ever being so fucking confused in my entire life i just stared at her and said “no, it’s chicken” because back then i didn’t know that the english can apparently substitute every single god damn word with “tea” and for a second i thought my flatmate considered chicken a fucking beverage
