Step one: buy a wrought iron princess bed from Ikea
Step two: enlist help to build it. Step back to realise it is Ikea’s idea of a 50 Shades bed, as long as it is large, and does not come with slats
Step three: sit in a bottomless giant cot and ponder what step four should be. Consider the possibility that your black silk sheets, red velvet curtains and chandelier might look a bit much against the metal bed frame
Step four: enlist help to take adult cot apart around you, and repack it
Step five: cajole your future flatmate into driving you to Ikea to swap unused sex bed for a normal bed
Step six: smile encouragingly when future flatmate says you two look like an old couple, doing the Ikea thing together
Step seven: call a friend to give advance warning that you are going to sleep with future flatmate. Cons: bad teeth and potential alcoholism. Pros: Ikea-based unarguable sexual tension (see step six) and existence of connecting balcony between rooms. Outcome: sex. Disagree with friend who says it is not unavoidable
Step eight: text future flatmate to invite him over for “apéritif” at half past midnight
Step nine: start a pre-move into the flat, after future flatmate has poured precisely the fourth glass of wine and is returning from the kitchen with another bottle tell him about step seven. Skip pros and cons, arrive directly at logical outcome.
Step ten: note that gingers do not suit a healthy blush. Resume normal conversation
Step eleven: when asked, show your tits. Resume normal conversation
Step twelve: allow future flatmate to kiss you in spite of bad teeth
Step thirteen: agree to meet “later” and dash off because you are late
Step fourteen: arrive late and drunk at your own drinks, announcing that it is because future flatmate was busy staring at your naked breasts from across your future dinner table
Step fifteen: step outside for a cigarette, say, to no one in particular, “oh, a taxi!”, run for it
Step sixteen: text future flatmate to let him know “later” is now
Step seventeen: fall asleep without sending future flatmate the address
Step eighteen: if thigh bruise and elbow graze can be reliable witnesses, assume your race for the taxi was less than graceful. Be grateful you did not let anyone know you were leaving
Step nineteen: return to bar of shame to pick up coat from cloakroom
Step twenty: move in officially. agree to flatmate’s offer of a moving-in drink at eleven am but only to cure hangover
Step twenty-one: assume martyr position in bedless bedroom until flatmate offers his bed
Step twenty-two: generously agree to share flatmate’s bed for restorative nap only
Step twenty-three: ahead of early-morning business trip departure, find a convincing argument to wake flatmate. Tea certainly is one option
Step twenty-four: interrupt convincing morning argument to depart on business trip. Promise to resume upon return. Make your exit via communicating balcony for panache
Step twenty-five: return home to find your new Ikea bed has been built
Step twenty-six: withhold promise of resuming until curtains have been hung
Step twenty-seven: be creative about ways to get your ceiling lamp done.
itssundayandidonthaveaboyfriend 