I don’t know what’s happened to me this past month but I’ve started drinking wine and dusting the blinds.
It all began when my ‘inner adult’ decided to move in with my boyfriend – while my ‘inner child’ saw the opportunity to decorate the flat with glittery toothbrush holders and chocolate bars.
For the past few years I’ve been in the carefree comfort of my parents’ house AND
(in the words of Monica from Friends)
‘NOW I HAVE TO LIVE WITH A BOY’ (and pay bills).
The hardest thing was breaking the devastating news to my parents – not because they were desperately going to miss me but because they didn’t seem bothered:
“If you move back in again with all your stuff, it will be a disaster”
“What do you mean you’re coming back to visit on Tuesday, this Tuesday?”
Even my cats didn’t seem to care – leaping out of my arms as I dragged my bags (and dignity) out the front door.
I thought I’d feel like Destiny’s Child in the Independent Women video but the lyric ‘tell me what you think about me, I buy my own Dettol wipes and dried pasta’ somehow doesn’t work.
Perhaps the highlight of my new living arrangement came when my boyfriend told me he had a surprise for me at the flat.
Could it be that he’s cooked my favourite meal? (Pizza)
Maybe he’s decorated it with gifts.
No – he’s invested in a bagless hoover. SURPRISE.
I’d love to continue writing this post but I have an appointment with the boiler control settings.
Welcome to adulthood.