Not all Blondes do Backflips

3 - Eleanor Rigby

Dedicated to @Jennanikhoran for spotting my "blond" boo boo which led to me changing Blonds to Blondes in the title (You didn't notice? How dare thee!)

Did you know that blond was originally a French word with masculine and feminine forms? A blond is a fair-haired man while a blonde is a fair-haired woman. My spellcheck didn't think "blonde" was a word. Big dumb-dumb.

In lieu of that, I shall dedicate the next chapter to the BEST random trivia comment just 'cause I like learning shιt.

Eleanor Rigby by the Beatles (sidebar). Listen to the song, dαmmit.

   

3 – Eleanor Rigby

   

Having to share a bathroom with two teenage males has to be on the list of the most messed up things in the world.

Having to share a bathroom with Paul? Well, that’s just hell on earth.

Before you even ask, my brothers and I are forced to share a single bathroom in a six-bed-four-bath house because our parents – in their full on Barbie-and-Ken-ness – insist that sharing is caring.

In that case, George and I could share a jail cell when we finally end up killing Paul – because that was more probable than me having to share a bathroom with Paul.

See, our family is a whole nut house' worth of neat freaks.

Mom's organized the kitchen spice rack by taste profile and Dad has a major case of labeling issues when it comes to the tools in his garage. I might not be the biggest fan of school – really, I hate it – but my desk is clean and clutter-free and all my school supplies are neatly arranged in my drawers. George, on the other hand, has the neatest closet in the house.

Every single one of us has a strange obsession with cleaning and keeping things in place.

The only clear exception was, of course, Paul.

My hair-obsessed older brother has a sick twisted version of 'order' and 'clean' that anyone else would just call fυcked-up-chaos-times-ten.

Take today for example.

As I blow dry my hair, it's pretty hard to ignore the messy sight of Paul's hair products – and believe me, he has a lot of them – sprawled all over the spacious bathroom counter. The urge to shove all of his crαp – all his precious hair wax, creams and sprays – into a trash bag and beat him in the head with it is so strong it's dαmn near impossible to resist.

My brother, ladies and gentlemen, the diva-slob.

Thank heavens George and I only have to deal with Paul's mess when he's got breakfast – and now school lunch – duty, like today. Otherwise, we did everything to make sure we got to the bathroom before Paul, short of chaining him to his bed.

What about yesterday, Lennon?

Look at you, paying attention and shιt.

Yesterday, if you must know, was a fluke. Paul slipped by me when he wore a pair of George's pajamas and placed a towel over his head.

Before you start cracking dumb blonde jokes, those two are practically the blonde Weasley twins. Put them in the same clothes and you couldn't tell one moron from the other.

When I pulled the bathroom door open five minutes later, I found George blinking at me with still very sleepy eyes. “G'morning,” he mumbled as I walked past him.