As I got back from London, I realised my knife has gone missing. Unless it has legs or ability to fly, somebody has been touching my shit.
This morning, I woke up happy to the prospect of making tuna sandwich with the ingredients I had just bought yesterday, but my can opener had mysteriously vanished. Somebody has been touching my shit.
And I suspect the person responsible for touching my shit is the one who had just moved out.
I’m not against sharing my stuff but I cannot consume or be in contact with pork. What if you had used the knife and the can opener for a can of pork sausages, or cut bits of bacon with it. I have been tolerant enough hardly minding the bits of forbidden meat or open packets of salami in the refrigerator.
Please, don’t touch my shit.
Here’s a funny video from Collegehumour.com featuring Leighton Meester, “Don’t Touch My Shit”.