New adventure for the Triple D's

The triple D household has sadly been segmented because our landlord decided to crush our fun and sell his apartment. Selfish git. So it was with sadness and nostalgia that we all said goodbye to our home and the year of fake family before leaving to go on holiday. The only catch is that we would return the next year homeless.

And the fun begins: 6 people fill the walls of my boyfriends’ tiny 2 bedroom tamboerskloof pad. A new dynamic had arrived, as well as truck load of clothing, shoes, make-up and hair straighteners. Everywhere.  A blow up mattress would cover the floor of the lounge and clothes would cover the rest for an entire month. It was an epic mess but what followed could only be new adventures.

The first ‘sub-heading’ shall we say to our adventures was the new relationship with our rather unimpressed downstairs neighbour.

The problem only came about because of the forever deflating mattress. This meant that my twin sister Abby would have to hand pump it up every night before bed. It would slowly deflate during the night and every morning two bodies would appear to be sinking into the bottom of the floor like they were flies in doe. The creaky wooden floors squeak rather dramatically as she pumped it up, which would be followed by some banging from beneath us. It soon came to our attention that the banging was from the neighbour directly beneath us who thought there was some kind of raucous love making happening in the apartment. Strike one.

The second incident was that the godforsaken wooden floors made an even louder noise (if that was even possible) if there were high heels being clip-clopped around the house. There are four of us girls living in the house so this happened frequently. We received a lovely note which read: “your heels make a helluva noise. Please take them off when you get home. Its annoying”. Strike two.

Strike three would have been a bit more handlable (if that was a real word and if) had the circumstances not been so un-soberly. You see the first few nights of loud balcony commotion had been fine but the final straw had been that Saturday night. After the pre-party noise on the balcony we ventured out and had one of the craziest nights in Triple D history.  Upon returning home we had brought with us two stragglers and so if the walk up the road to the apartment hadn’t been rowdy enough, the three flights up the echoing stairwell definitely was. As we walked I attempted to quieten everyone down with the traditional “shh”. This could have worked as one half of the clan silenced themselves and the other half loudly “shh’d” back at me repeatedly. Need I remind you, it echoes.

 So strike three occurred when the downstairs neighbour opened her door with furious urgency and screamed “you guys aren’t the only ones living here! Shut the fuck up”. Once again this would have been okay had everyone not burst out laughing and mimicked her like she wasn’t really there.

The next day we left “we’re so sorry” letters under the 5 doors in the block.

Needless to say, we haven’t been invited over to any neighbours since.