Thanks to drunken goadings as to why the Bear and I don't live together, courtesy of his South African friend one extremely drunken night in Limerick last October, it transpired that the Bear actually did want to live with me and as such, he discovered that I had wanted to live with him for the past year. This, coupled with the fact that I'm currently living in the ONLY somewhat scary area in Rathmines and getting the hell out of Dodge, means that we actually ARE going to live together! Like grown ups! Amazing!
And so begins the arduous task of house hunting.
"Suitable for professional couple."
Professional couple? For some reason that phrase puts me in mind of fuckers like these:
Or maybe a couple that are both hookers and are hired as a package so their profession actually involves being a couple. Either way, it definitely doesn't make me think of me and the Bear. I shared this thought with him at the weekend, and he proceeded to take the piss out of me for flapping my arms around while wearing his big green hoodie as I was talking. Somehow this conversation culminated with me doing an impression of a frustrated T Rex who just realised his arms are so short that he can't have a wank.
Professional couple indeed.