text: A few weeks ago I moved into my friend’s apartment. I mentioned to my friend on a random Tuesday that “It would be cool to move into your apartment” and then I did it, kicking out his girlfriend in the process. The day went like this: “Oi it would be cool if I moved into your apartment. We could eat biscuits all day and then pretend the floor is lava,” I said. My friend was sipping his iced coffee, we were in a cafe. The cafe was surrounded by people, which is generally the case in cafes that are doing well. “That sounds mad. But I live with my girlfriend and its a one bedroom apartment. Where would you live?” I felt it was strange that he was asking such a retarded question. The answer to me was obvious. “Umm... We kick her out?” I said, my hand in a strange gollum-like pose, as if I was trying to balance a watermelon in the palm of my hand. “Oh yeah. I feel strange that I asked such a retarded question.” Later that afternoon we drove back to his apartment while listening to “How deep is your love” by the Bee Gees. Which is ironic because I don’t think my friend’s love for his girlfriend was very deep at all. Such is life. We went inside his apartment and made a bee-line straight for the room. We took all of her stuff and threw it out the window. Which is an age-old cliche that you see in movies. But cliches exist for a reason. I then wrapped myself in bedsheets and pretended I was a caterpillar and crawled around the floor while giggling and yelling “I am caterpillar.” My friend did the same. Later she came home and got pretty angry. “Why is my stuff all thrown outside?” she screamed. She was visibly upset. Like how Marat Safin used to get upset when he made unforced errors at Wimbledon, it was more rage than sorrow. I was still wrapped in bedsheets and was sprawled out on the bed. However, I was no longer pretending to be a caterpillar but was now a cocoon. “Shhhh... Quiet, he’s metamorphosing.” said my friend. She didn’t seem to understand what was going on and continued to complain and pull her own hair. She looked like that famous Edward Munch painting of the screaming dude, except her hair was long and she was female. And you could actually hear the screams. I suddenly stood up and fashioned the bed sheets around me, one end of the bedsheets in each hand respectively and began to flap my arms. “I am the butterfly of doom!” I yelled. She shrieked as I chased her around the apartment and finally out the door. “That was funny,” my friend laughed, “Yes it was. That’s why you are a laughing.” I explained. “Come on now, lets eat biscuits and pretend the floor is lava,” I said. Strangely enough, we didn’t hear from her again. Which kind of sucks because I was always fond of her. If she ever reads this I hope she knows she’s always welcome to visit.