Cooh Whip

Al and I went to check out a flat today. Although her and I had some disagreements about certain areas to live in, we both agreed to contact this Irish couple that was renting out their upstairs flat for a decent price. Despite the flat being absolutely gorgeous and clean and spacious, Al and I declined the offer. Pauline, the Irish woman who showed us the flat, wasn’t really cool with having guests over and her flat was really far away from the tube… not to mention, right next to a cemetery, which made it pretty creepy to walk by.

Pauline, a fairly nice and quite woman in nature, had Al and I questioning more than just the flat when we left. I don’t actually ever recall feeling this awkward with a landlord before. I left there thinking, WTF does she do with her free time?

After a simple question about the transportation options in the area, Pauline specifically explained that she worked late at a gentlemen’s club and sometimes needed to take the 69 bus home.




(No lie, this is the only bus in the area that ran all night). And she explained that this was the best bus to take home when she missed the last train of the night… I mean the tube… I mean… geeze, what other word for transportation can I use that doesn’t make this story sound sexual?

Seriously, I even regret asking if I could see the closet next to the bathroom. She totally put up her hand and said “oh yeah, that’s my closet.” Whoa whoa! Did she just give Al and I the hand? Like okay! It can’t be that messy. What the hell is she hiding in there? A whip? Some CooH Whip ? A black leather pair of pants and some five-inch heels?

Apparently that closet was for her “seasonal clothing.” What else do you say to that other than what I did, “Oh yeah, I figured.”