Me (bleary-eyed, surprised): oh hello. You’re wearing trackpants. Going to the gym?
Flatmate: no, I’m going to work.
Me: clients making you do push-ups before signing contracts again?
Flatmate: it’s theme day in the office.
Me: you what?
Flatmate: Theme day. We have to all dress according to a theme. We’ve had nineties’ Bollywood, beachwear, cops and robbers, noughties’ Bollywood, pimps and hos…
Me (fascinated): what about eighties’ Bollywood?
Flatmate: SHHH. Not so loud. I can’t take much more.
Me: I want pictures.
Flatmate: Absolutely not.
Flatmate: sob. Help me.
Me: show pichar and I will listen to everything.
Flatmate sends pics. Many. Many. Pics.
Me: HOLY MOTHER OF GOD HE WORE THOSE SHORTS TO WORK?
Flatmate: Sob. My eyes.
Me: but I can see his-
Flatmate: we all can see it. And clearly he couldn’t find a razor.
Me: well, it might have become blunt just looking at him. Next!
Me: Wow, that top is tight. So, so tight. And your office air conditioning is strong. So, so strong.
Flatmate: Sob. She stood next to me for 25 minutes. My eyes.
Me: we’ll buy you a guide dog. Next.
Me: is…she…wearing a VELVET tracksuit?? Omg was there ‘juicy’ written on the back?
Flatmate: No. ‘bebe’. sob.
Me: And the one next to her? Isn’t this the rich one who only eats at five-star hotels?
Flatmate: she’s wearing denim.
Me: but there are flowers on it.
Flatmate: floral cutouts on either side.
Flatmate: and loud, kitchsy patchwork pockets.
Me: but why?
Me: wait. This guy is in a three-piece suit.
Me: oh he didn’t theme. He wore regular work wear.
Me: so he…I…okay.
Flatmate: yes. Buy booze ok.
Me: ordering now.