The house has been blessedly quiet. No Wolverine for days – she's been house-hunting and looking for a part-time job.
Catching the early bus and coming home late in the evening has left her with little energy to do anything but fall grumpily into bed.
No job as yet, though, and the search for accommodation does not appear to be proceeding smoothly.
Some houses are too far from the main campus.
Some of the rooms are a bit cramped, like.
Some of the girls are snobby cows.
"But I thought you were sharing with your friend," you mention.
Oh, Orla's decided to commute from home, more fool her.
And now, Wolverine's period has started; she feels really awful, she says cunningly – it'd be much easier if only you or Dad would drive her around the house-shares like the parents of the other students!
But the other students don't live a 40-minute bus ride from campus, you mention, tentatively adding that, er, Wolverine doesn't actually need a flat.
Oh for Christ's sake, she whines, what do you know?
Students have to live independent lives, and finding accommodation is bloody hard work – today, like, a horrible man promised to show her a house on the south side of the city, but gave the room away when Wolverine was a little bit late! How late, you inquire, somewhat intrigued.
Well, like, she was starving and needed a kebab and Coke, so it was only about an hour.
He showed a total lack of professionalism, she complains.
She can't understand how these people manage to rent their houses at all!
Thanks to them, all her summer-job money is going on lunches and the bloody bus.
"But you could take a packed lunch and have your dinner at home," you protest.
Talk to the hand, her expression says; Wolverine has better things to do with her time (and money).
Friday evening, a taxi rolls up and disgorges your daughter.
Everybody stares as Wolverine struggles out of the vehicle under an avalanche of shopping bags.
"That cost me a fortune," she complains.
"It's a total waste of my savings!
"Just because you won't just take the day off work to drive me!"
"Did you find your house-share?" you ask.
No, she snaps, she gave up and went shopping, because she's exhausted from all that futile tramping around.
But she'll be out of here in a week or two, don't you worry, she snarls, stamping into the kitchen and opening the fridge.
She wouldn't stay in this place to save her life!
Oh, no worries, you say, straight-faced.