Living the Dream (with Vermin)

Brenda, beaming, gestured around her new 'bohemian chic' apartment. "Isn't it divine, Mark? So much character!"

Mark, carefully stepping over a loose floorboard, surveyed the peeling wallpaper and mysterious ceiling stains. "Divine, indeed. I haven't seen this much 'character' since that documentary on abandoned psychiatric hospitals."

"Oh, you! It's perfectly rustic," Brenda chirped, swatting playfully at a shadow that moved a little too fast. "And the rent is an absolute steal."

"I can only assume they pay *you* to reside here, Brenda," Mark drawled, examining a suspicious chew mark on the baseboard. "A small stipend for enduring the unique 'wildlife' experience, perhaps?"

Brenda giggled. "You mean my little companions? That's just Squeaky! He's practically a pet. And his whole family!"

"Ah, yes. A communal living arrangement with species that don't contribute to the utility bill but do leave thoughtful little droppings," Mark observed, nodding sagely. "Truly, you've revolutionized the roommate dynamic."

"And the leaking roof? It's like a natural alarm clock! A gentle drip-drip to wake me," she enthused, pointing to a bucket.

"Much more organic than a mere smartphone alarm," Mark agreed, "and it comes with the added bonus of potential ceiling collapse for extra morning motivation. What a bargain!"

Brenda pouted. "You're just jealous of my minimalist, eco-friendly lifestyle."

Mark leaned against a wall that creaked ominously. "Jealous? Of your 'minimalist' approach to structural integrity and basic sanitation? No, Brenda. I'm simply in awe of your unwavering commitment to living ironically."

"It's character building!" she insisted.

"Oh, I'm certain it is," he murmured, "especially for the character who decides this is a perfectly acceptable habitat for a human being."