Since starting I Do Believe I Came with a Hat I appear to have tapped into a lot of angst in our readers’ shared living situations; receiving an outpouring of awkward predicaments, hostile situations and tedium for those with whom they share their living quarters. Over the coming days, I’ll respond to the housemate horror stories of our tormented friends. Go to the toilet beforehand – this one’s going to be a long read.

I can’t stand my housemate and I’m trying to kick him out. I’m attempting to make him uncomfortable enough to leave – is there a quicker way to get rid of him?

Forced Exit, Burwood VIC

I was once on the receiving end of ‘constructed dismissal’ by a former housemate who we shall refer to as ‘Bitchface Milkshake’ (whose name has been changed to protect the criminally insane). At first everything was rosy; we had started out as friends, went out to the same nightclubs together, ate meals and shared the postage stamp-sized apartment harmoniously … for a week. They say you get to learn an awful lot about someone when you live with them, and that adage rang true when I soon discovered the situation in which I had found myself. To say Bitchface Milkshake was somewhat unhinged would be the understatement of the millennium and evidently, I was keeping company with a fully-fledged psychopath. First, there were the mood swings, tantrums and the yelling – she let bad blood like a haemophiliac in a pin factory. I would never know what to expect when I walked through the front door of my $40-a-week apartment. With rent so cheap, the alarm bells should have surely chimed until my ears bled, however, it was my first time living out of home and quite frankly, I didn’t know any better – any alternative to living with my family was attractive.

Secondly, I had to tolerate the endless parade of her corpulent flesh. For someone who was supposedly a personal trainer, she was rather rotund. Let’s be honest – she was fat. Every night as I returned home from pushing handbags like narcotics to greedy Hell V devotees, I would be greeted with a display of her pulling and preening her love handles to demonstrate just how much weight she had lost. I never noticed the difference. In fact, the only person to lose weight in that household was me, losing all appetite after witnessing such a nauseating display. Despite having to tolerate her hot temper and the constant eye cabbage, I was rarely home and the location and the rent leant themselves to a good place to rest my weary head and store my extensive shoe collection. Sure, I felt uncomfortable in what was technically my house too, yet for the time I was there it was a minor inconvenience. Then the unexpected happened – she met a man.

As it was her sole purpose in life to find a husband, get married, have children and put on all the weight she lost before the marriage (*cough, cough*); things moved rather rapidly. They met on day one, on day two he was on the sofa watching motorsports and by about day five he had relocated into our apartment without any consultation. Naturally, I took umbrage to his presence and after querying Bitchface Milkshake’s intention of informing me of our new lodger, in a final display of insanity she ordered me from the premises – two days shy of Christmas Day. Classy. Her banshee ravings were so impressive that she was audible at the front gate when I picked up my coat and fled out into the street and into the safety of a nearby bar and received a big warm hug from the greater part of a bottle of Belvedere. I’m just glad her intended saw her display and had the opportunity to walk away from a lifetime of anguish. The poor fool.

My point is that asking someone to leave is equally unpleasant for both parties. Unfortunately, I was a casualty in Bitchface Milkshake’s crazy crossfire, and from no fault of my own, I experienced just how you shouldn’t go about it. Be civil, explain that you think it’s time you went your separate ways as diplomatically as possible and be aware that the situation could become intense and they might have a negative response. Finalise all bills, offer to assist with their packing and oversee what leaves with them and what stays if you want to ensure that all of your belongings remain undamaged or in your possession. Commence your search for your replacement housemate after they have left in order to avoid a further caustic reaction – you might have to shell out for an extra couple of weeks’ rent, but it will save you the heartache. Oh, and one last thing – should a potential housemate apply who is 5’2” tall, tubby and claims to be a personal trainer; ask her if I can have my Jamie Oliver cookbook back.

I do believe there’s more for you to read: