Felix for Zosia

Nob Alert: Mobile Guitar Players

noreply@blogger.com (Felix for Zosia) — Thu, 05 Nov 2009 22:49:00 +0000

I don't have a problem with people playing the guitar (unless it is John Denver songs) but why do they have to do it while walking down the street? I have seen this on not one but two occasions in the past week and both times the young men in question looked like they were high on ridiculin. How will they ever be taken seriously? I hope they don't think this is the way to behave if they want to attract a girl; even if the girl in question were partial to fellows of a mildly artistic bent they would never be able to bring him home to Mother. As we all know, this is actually what all women look for in a man: a nice, safe and boring accountant type with round glasses and a side part. I have even tried to sell Tallboy as this type to my own mother by having a long and involved phone conversation with her about the fact that he wears shirts, with collars. She was impressed. But I digress...What is wrong with finding a nice spot in the shade of a tree and sitting still? It's enough to give the watcher indegestion. I am worried that this is a trend on the rise.

Even more worrying is that the second hairy, hippy reprobate was walking along, strumming away in the rain. Seriously.

Dear Valerie

noreply@blogger.com (Felix for Zosia) — Sat, 17 Oct 2009 23:14:00 +0000

Dear Valerie,
Hi! It was really nice to meet you while I was searching for a new flatmate. I thought we would get along fine as flatties, but I wasn't expecting it to be some kind of whirlwind flatmate love like I've had in the past. Basically, I guess you met my minium criteria: able to construct full sentences in conversation, no discernable psychotic tendencies, demonstrated familiarity with the procedures of washing dishes and general light household duties, and a slight display of quirky personality (as evidenced by your spider earrings and tongue piercing).

What I am trying to say is that I am not really all that upset if you don't want to live with me. It is not going to come as a personal blow to what you for some reason seem to imagine is my fragile emotional state and heightened sense of feeling rejected. Or, to put it another way, you're not that great. Also, I think if you moved in I would keep getting Amy Winehouse in my head singing that song Valerie which would get pretty annoying after a while.

I just wanted to write you a letter to fill you in on one of the most basic rules of flatmate finding ettiquette because you seem to be unaware of it. If you don't want to live with someone there is absolutely no need to keep stringing them along with "I will definately let you know tomorrow" type messages. All you have to do is think up a small, inane excuse and go with that right from the start. Some good, solid examples are: "you don't have a car space" "the room is too small" "I would prefer to live in a different suburb" or "the rent is too high". Any of these are fine and as you can see, they are completely impersonal. Everyone knows that they are all just platitudes and they really mean "I found someone I liked more than you" but the thing is that we all do it. Or you could take the approach of Linda who, while barely able to speak English, managed to let me know less than 24 hours after we met "thank you but I do not take the room". See how easy that was? she didn't even bother with the platitude!

Anyway, just letting you know that I have retracted my offer to have you move in with me because your car space is too small and I want you to live in a different suburb. Good luck with your search for a home,
Reagrds, Felix

Panic Stations!!!!!

noreply@blogger.com (Felix for Zosia) — Fri, 16 Oct 2009 03:03:00 +0000

I was just in a public toilet looking at myself in the mirror and I realised that I have one ear bigger than the other. I am a mutant! For about 17 years I have been wearing earings that look lopsided because they have been hanging from ear lobes that are at different heights due to the disproportionate size of my ears. I can't believe that NOBODY TOLD ME!!! I vow to spend the rest of my life tilting my head ever so slightly to the right in the hope that it evens things up a bit.

My sense of self has been so shaken that I'm off to write some bleak, stark existential poetry and drink some absinthe.

Random-a-rama

noreply@blogger.com (Felix for Zosia) — Thu, 08 Oct 2009 05:06:00 +0000

Juicebar and I tried to go furniture shopping the other day but things did not go exactly according to plan...
The shop was closed. It rained. Google maps auto-corrected us incorrectly and tried to send us to random places. We also managed to get lost a few times without the aid of Google maps. But despite such setbacks, the day was not a complete loss: I bought lots of random confectionary and foodstuffs, and a tin of Non-stick Spray-On Me.

How did this happen? I metaphorically hear you ask. Well I am going to tell you (non-metaphorically). We eventually found a furniture shop to look in, and just like in the movie Felix, Zosia and Juicebar in Wonderland, there was a supermarket on the bottom floor. I bought myself some Foul Madames because my supplies are running really low at the moment.

I also bought the afore-mentioned Non-stick Spray-On Me. It is actually cooking oil with my name as the brand but since my blog is semi-anonymous I can't really tell you what that is.

In other news, I am stuck in a loop of governmental proportions. Because I was unemployed for a couple of weeks (or "flexi-ployed" to use the PC term) several months ago, I now have to attend various meetings to prove that I have a job, in case I change my mind and suddenly want to not have a job again... or something... So although I concede that these phone calls and meetings are an utter waste of time it still surprised me yesterday when I was asked by someone who is supposedly qualified to help me find a job (should I want her to) how to spell PhD. Uhhh... yes: she asked me how to spell a three letter acronym.

Career Change

noreply@blogger.com (Felix for Zosia) — Wed, 23 Sep 2009 05:28:00 +0000

I’ve decided that I am going to become an author. Here are my October New Release Titles:

1001 Animal Whisperer Stories To Read Before You Die

1001 ____-gate Scandals to Uncover Before You Die

1001 Vampire Stories To Get Sucked Into Before You Die

1001 Palliative Care Treatments To Undergo (Just) Before You Die

And if you are the person who stole Bilingual Jane’s cracked pepper at work then GIVE IT BACK YOU GROTTY LOWLIFE POO-BUM ARSE-WIPE FOOD SNIPE! Honestly, what kind of person would steal a condiment*?

*Obviously, I don't mean people who take little poackets of sugar from cafes because... like... everybody does that, right?

Cripes!

noreply@blogger.com (Felix for Zosia) — Mon, 14 Sep 2009 10:41:00 +0000

Obviously all my recent yearning to be a secretary has left some lingering anti-feminist atoms in my body because a really scary thing happened the other day: While I was cooking dinner, Tall Boy changed a light bulb. It was so... domestic. Once we realised what we had done we completely freaked out. He quickly arranged some pink flowers on the table and I emptied the bin to be on the safe side.

noreply@blogger.com (Felix for Zosia) — Tue, 08 Sep 2009 09:51:00 +0000

Dear Clyde,
Thankyou for reading my previous letter and taking the comments on board. I hope you don't mind if I point something out to you? When I asked you to stop talking about your blisters, it wasn't really my idea that you start talking about your veins and surgical stockings instead. Perhaps we could avoid discussion of any health related matters at all until I leave.
Thanks again, Felix

How to Choose?

noreply@blogger.com (Felix for Zosia) — Thu, 03 Sep 2009 10:45:00 +0000

Guess what kids? I have found another crazy place to work (it might be sane but I am not expecting anything much these days)!! The only problem now is that I can't choose which resignation letter to use...

Dear Clyde,
I am writing to inform you that I have decided to resign from Crazy Town. The reason behind my decision is that I can no longer stand to listen to stories of your blisters or your grandchildren.
Sincerely, Felix

Dear Clyde,
I regret to inform you that I am no longer able to work for you at Crazy Town. I don’t have a really good reason for my decision to resign, except that I am an ungrateful churl who is selfishly ignorant of all the generous support you have shown me during my time as your slave – er - employee. I would like to take this opportunity to note the numerous times you (an innocent little lamb of a human being who only wants to help others) have been betrayed in such a callous and unfeeling way. For someone as astute, efficient and hardworking as yourself, it really is a mystery that this keeps happening to you. I would like to wish you all the best for the future of your business but I suspect that you will end up employing somebody else who will ultimately stab you in the back* for no discernable reason.
Reasonably sincerely, Felix

*”stab you in the back” being a synonym for “get another job” and also “use the sticky tape”, “forget to initial something”, “forget to empty the bin”, “send a text message on company time”, “not work fast enough”, “take a dinner break” , “breathe in the wrong way”…

Dear Sidekick of Clyde,
I am writing to inform you that I am resigning from Crazy Town. There are a number of reasons behind my decision but the main one is that I dislike you so intensely that I can hardly bear to be in the same room as you without shuddering. Please take this personally. I know that you take your role of Ogre/Manager very seriously and you do a really good job. You may or may not want to keep this up. I wish you a frustrating and mediocre future career, and hope to never see you again.
Regards, Felix

Dear Clyde,
I am writing to inform you of my decision to resign from Crazy Town. It has come to my attention that there is no such thing as a sarcasm font. I have decided to dedicate my life to developing one, and hope that you may feel proud that you were in some part an inspiration to the development and creation of this important work.
Regards, Felix

Things We Need More Of In This World:

noreply@blogger.com (Felix for Zosia) — Wed, 19 Aug 2009 05:42:00 +0000

Giraffes in leather chaps

Bilingual Jane Strikes Again

noreply@blogger.com (Felix for Zosia) — Tue, 11 Aug 2009 08:45:00 +0000

Bilingual Jane once had a housemate with extremely bad breath. It was so bad that, according to Bilingual Jane, it smelt like a dead animal. She didn’t realise for ages that it was his breath causing the smell because when he yawned or laughed it took a while for the smell to waft across the room. When people came to visit she mentioned the horrible dead carcass smell and often the visitors could smell it too. She had people hunting all over the apartment for the dead animal until one day it suddenly clicked. She had no choice but to back-pedal, saying that she could no longer smell the stench of rotting rodent flesh, because there is no nice way to say “when you open your mouth I can smell dead bunny rabbits”.

Jobless

noreply@blogger.com (Felix for Zosia) — Wed, 05 Aug 2009 06:19:00 +0000

So once again I am looking for a job in a sane workplace. I don't want to work anywhere that is "dynamic" (ie "we are a rapidly expanding, dynamic cardboard box factory") and I do NOT have a "can-do attitude". Also not keen on "vibrant" (to describe either me or the prospective workplace). This pretty much rules out everything.

Knob City

noreply@blogger.com (Felix for Zosia) — Sat, 01 Aug 2009 02:36:00 +0000

As previously mentioned, when it comes to putting something funny written by someone other than me (and without their knowledge or permission) on this blog I am an ethics free zone. This arrived in Crazy Town workplace the other day (names of people and places have been changed).

Dear Clyde,
In making this approach to you, I am shamelessly exploiting the fact that you know my father, Well Know Australian Author – and, indeed, the fact that I was a (very) young customer of your store aeons ago.

I have recently graduated from KA (Knob Academy) and am now embarking on my career as a professional Knob Head. Like all embryonic stars of stage and screen (!), I need a job. I am about to move into Crazy Town West and would appreciate an opportunity to discuss with you the possibility of casual/shift work at Crazy Town.

While my specific experience in crazy bookshops is brief (a stint of several months over Christmas in the book department of David Jones), my experience of customer service is quite extensive. I have worked to rigorous standards of customer service in a variety of settings (from hospitality to guided tours to office reception) – my resume, attached, has all the details. I am also passionate about books and literature, and indeed spent three years completing a Bachelor of Arts degree at Sandstone University (graduating in 2006) before training as a Knob Head.

I shall phone you in the next couple of days, to see when it might be convenient for us to speak. I look forward to meeting you.

Yours sincerely,

Knob FitzAustralian Author

PS Well Known Australian Author sends his good wishes to you and Major Dick.

Swizzy Tim and the Vom Vom

noreply@blogger.com (Felix for Zosia) — Thu, 30 Jul 2009 05:41:00 +0000

A tale of love and hate

My dear friend Swizzy Tim likes to express his gut emotions. Here are two tales about him (the first has become lore, and the second only happened last month):

1.
Swizzy Time and NLJ were mates in a casual sort of way until one night when their friendship reached a new level of closeness. We were having a house party at the tower and Swizzy Time had been drinking rather a lot. He was with a group of people in NLJ’s room, admiring NLJ’s keyboard* when all of a sudden his eyes glazed over, he began to look unwell and NLJ had time for nothing but to cup his hands under the ensuing remnants of Swizzy Tim’s dinner, thus happily saving his keyboard and cementing a lifelong friendship with Swizzy Tim.

2.
Swizzy Tim was recently embroiled in a love triangle, which ended as soon as he found out that he was embroiled in a love triangle. Heartbroken and bitter**, he spent the evening angrily strumming his guitar *** and drinking a combination of red wine and whisky.

(Swizzy Tim has asked me to advertise all salient details like name, address and physical description of the She Devil but I’ll just say her name starts with R and she works in Customer Complaints for an airline. If any of you are time-rich enough to track her down and slap her in the face on behalf of Swizzy Tim for instigating the love triangle saga I wouldn’t want to spoil your fun by making it too easy.)

So She Devil R. came around that night to be verbally abused by Swizzy Tim. She went upstairs to his room while he spoke briefly with his housemates. He then followed her upstairs to find her lying on the floor. She sat up, and he sat down next to her and … spewed all over her, which is the last thing he remembers of that night. She is now known by all and sundry as Spewy.

*I know that sounds like a euphemism, but it isn’t.

** For about a day and a half

*** Again, not a euphemism

Crazy is the New Crazy

noreply@blogger.com (Felix for Zosia) — Wed, 22 Jul 2009 05:54:00 +0000

My workplace is like being stuck inside a Greek myth. There is an endless repetition of pointless tasks to be performed, and no matter how many of them you do, there will be the same amount or more waiting for you at the start of your next shift. I often feel like my stomach is being picked out by vultures too. Obviously this is one of the myths where (rather than something mighty and heroic like a horse) Zeus chose to turn into something idiotic like a stoat that is of absolutely no help in getting me rescued at all.

Meh.

noreply@blogger.com (Felix for Zosia) — Mon, 20 Jul 2009 07:09:00 +0000

It turns out that my new workplace is even crazier than the old but I think it is actually beyond the point of being funny. Or maybe I am beyond the point of being amused. I keep getting told off for things that I may or may not do in the future. At least in the last place if I moved the sticky tape I got yelled and that is fair enough in Crazy Land. I mean, I did move the sticky tape. Now I get told off for the possibility that I may be considering moving the sticky tape sometime next week.

Instead of The Eye I work for an orangutan. That is to say, I work for "a large, long-armed anthropoid ape".

The Orangutan is married to another Major Dick who could be the first Major Dick's twin brother.

End of Chapter One, by Sick To Death of Crazy (filling in for Zosia)

Top 5...

noreply@blogger.com (Felix for Zosia) — Mon, 13 Jul 2009 03:43:00 +0000

…things that have been annoying me this week:

...or to be more precise: things that were annoying my about 3 weeks ago when I started trying to write this post:

1. People who own shops (and have done so for many years) but pronounce Eftpos “eff toss” which is rather rude when you think about it.

2. Alannis Morisette: Rain on your wedding day is only ironic if you are marrying a drought stricken farmer who hasn’t seen rain for 5 years and it rains so much the car park at the wedding reception place gets flooded so your beautiful white dress gets very muddy, and you can’t rinse it clean because there is no water in the taps due to the extreme severity of said drought.

3. Cat Stevens.

...As you can see, I only came up with 3 things for my list. The problem is that I have been in far too good a mood to be annoyed lately which is Bad News for Blog. The reason for the good mood is that I have found myself a Tall Boy. This is perhaps somewhat ironic (Alannis, are you paying attention?) because I have been looking for a tallboy. Maybe it's not ironic, maybe it's just in the Bad Dad Joke category. It's hard to tell because definitions of irony don't ususally come with any information on the inclusion of wordplay and puns. Anyway, I am still looking for a tallboy because I need somewhere to put my clothes. While my Tall Boy does have drawers, they are not the kind you can put clothes in.

Dear Angela Bishop

noreply@blogger.com (Felix for Zosia) — Sat, 20 Jun 2009 06:50:00 +0000

Dear Angela Bishop,

I don't know if you are aware of this or not, so I am writing to you to tell that you don't have a neck.

Regards, Felix for Zosia

Too Short To Breed

noreply@blogger.com (Felix for Zosia) — Wed, 17 Jun 2009 09:13:00 +0000

Juicebar has been telling all and sundry that he has been accused of being "too short to breed" by his housemate who... er... likes to assemble Ikea furniture in her spare time (not-that-there's-anything-wrong-with-that). He seemed to take an unnatural amount of glee in proclaiming this opinion, much to the distress of said housemate. Having spent 8 years at university, I am not quite as stupid as I look (although the fact of having spent 8 years at university and still not being finished may possibly be an argument against my supposedly astronomically high level of intellect... humm... uncomfortable self analysis on the horizon if I'm not careful)... so I suspected that he wasn't telling the whole truth, and I asked him what she actually meant. It turns out that she was of the opinion that - in the context of their mooting the idea of a "communal baby" - the two of them were too short to breed together. Upon hearing this I paused for thought and said, in a let's-be-reasonable-and-analytical-here voice "but ER isn't particularly short, and neither are you. I don't think the two of you are too short to breed together." It was only much later that it occurred to me that having any kind of reasonable discussion about any points relating to the concept of a "communal baby" was kind of ridiculous.

Bilingual Jane: An Enigma

noreply@blogger.com (Felix for Zosia) — Wed, 10 Jun 2009 01:51:00 +0000

Every single item* of kitchenware or general household bric a brac that Bilingual Jane contributed to our abode is pink, except for the ice cube tray that makes penis shaped pieces of ice.

*I am allowed a 10% margin of exaggeration or inaccuracy as part of my creativity contact, which I wrote myself using crayons when I was bored.

Felix For Zosia: Style_Lab

noreply@blogger.com (Felix for Zosia) — Thu, 04 Jun 2009 01:46:00 +0000

I just finished reading a book called The Thoughtful Dresser by Linda Grant. I have decided that she is my Guru* of the Month. I have been so inspired by the book that I was going to go out and start myself another blog called Felix For Zosia: Style_Lab, where I would blog about fashion, non-fashion, and my outfit choices with the sophisticated wit and intelligent humour that make Felix For Zosia (original) the brilliant market success and revenue spinner that it is today. But then I decided that probably nobody would want to read such wanky bosh. But THEN I though to myself “who am I to decide?” So here is a sample of what you might find on Felix For Zosia: Style Lab if it were a real blog. Tell me what you think:

What My Clothes Say About Me: Saturday Morning
Orange scarf and grey cardigan: I feel like shit. These items look disgusting together and I can hardly believe I am wearing them. I want people on the street to know that I have a cold and a headache and possibly a smidge of hangover so I’ve chosen items that clash so horribly they will invariably induce headaches in all who observe me.

What My Clothes Say About Me: Saturday Afternoon
Blue/green scarf and grey cardigan: I am stupidly vain and hopelessly bad with money. As the day wore on and I felt better, I had to buy another scarf to replace the orange one because I couldn’t take it any longer. Even though the new scarf looks like something a mermaid would wear if it had a sore throat, I consider it an Investment Piece because it actually looks fantastic with half my wardrobe.

Autumn/Winter09: Shopping
I called my bestest, gayest friend Harveii (who is like a cross between Napoleon Perdis and Napoleon Dynamite) in a high excitement after my morning’s shopping trip. “Harveii!!! Guess what?? I’ve found my new Autumn Palette! It’s all based around a pair of earrings I bought last week. It’s such a great combination of Burnt Ochre, Tamil Tiger Green and a touch of Democratic Purple**. It’s going to be so versatile, and the best thing is that all I have to do when I go shopping for more pieces***is make sure that I wear the earrings and they will be like my personal, fashion equivalent of those paint sample things people give you when you’re redecorating the front parlour.” Needless to say, Harveii was practically as excited as I was, so we agreed to meet up and drank fruit flavoured martinis all afternoon long in a “New York style”**** bar.

*Please always pronounce this word “ga-roo” in your head when reading it anywhere on this blog. Trust me, it’s much more fun.

** For those not in the know, Democratic Purple is similar to Royal Purple but less… inbred.

***Rule number 63 of The Fashion Blog Creed states that one must always refer to “pieces” and not “clothes”. Amendment 63b states that “garment” is acceptable in certain circumstances.

****People get mugged there a lot.

Why Lesbianism is Like Assembling Ikea Furniture

noreply@blogger.com (Felix for Zosia) — Wed, 03 Jun 2009 01:19:00 +0000

I have been doing some thinking and would like to present the following analogy for perusal:

I really like Ikea furniture. I even have some in my home. I know that there are some people who like to assemble Ikea furniture, and while I know that I am physically capable of doing so myself, when faced with an array of nuts and bolts and planks of wood it all just seems like too much effort.

The Person To Whom The Deep Fryer Belonged Was Ugly Sven

noreply@blogger.com (Felix for Zosia) — Sun, 24 May 2009 04:59:00 +0000

As certain readers of this blog are aware (Lingual Alison first and foremost among you) I have been promising for many months to post all funny utterances from Lingual Alison’s dinner parties. Because it was taking me so long I thought I should do something really spectacular with the collected quotes, and I began working on an epic poem where every alternate line was a dinner party quote and the whole thing was tied together under the umbrella theme of ancient Roman festivals. I thought it was a fucking brilliant idea, but upon reflection I concede that I probably don’t even need to tell you that actually it was crap. In case there is any doubt I’ll give you an example:

I don’t want to say goodbye talking about my father’s genetalia!
Could we instead discuss ancient Rome, and feasts like Saturnalia?

While I have to indulge in a bit of egoism, and acknowledge that rhyming “genetalia” which “Saturnalia” was rather brilliant, I am willing to note that I am probably the only person in the world who cares. Anyway one of the problems I’ve been facing is that all the quotes seem hilarious to me but I’m not sure they would make much sense to anybody else– see the title of this post for an illustration of this point. So I will give you a severely edited version of Funny Moments From The Dinner Party:

Billy (whose parents I accused of naming their son after a piece of Ikea furniture) said “I’m terrible with single digit children”. Oh how we laughed!

* * * * * * * * * * * ** * * * * * * *

Then LA (who really needs a sexier nickname I think – suggestions welcome one and all) had a Eurovision party last weekend and I was too busy eating wonderful European-themed food and drinking wine and generally having a fabulous time to bother writing down any funny things that anybody said. I vaguely remember that Bilingual Jane and I stole a Yellow Pages on the way home, and one of the European countries won the contest. Also, there were dolmades.

Farewell, Dullard Cheese Girl, Tanty Man et al

noreply@blogger.com (Felix for Zosia) — Sun, 17 May 2009 01:17:00 +0000

I have finally left the crazy workplace once and for all. Squish squish. Apart from not being able to blog about it anymore, the only serious downside I can think of is that the new workplace does not have a panini maker in its non-existent staff lunch room. This is going to take some getting used to because that panini maker was sometimes the only thing that got me through the day at Crazy Former Workplace. Consequently, it has risen to great heights in my estimation of Workplace Pros and Cons, to somewhere about the level of salary-sacrifice sports car.

After a mega four days alcohol free (mostly due to the fact that I am now working during normal drinking hours) I headed to the bottle shop, where I saw a half legless man who murmured to me as he hobbled past “’s good for ya”. Now when I say “half legless” I mean that he had one leg, and was moving about with the aid of crutches. While I recognise the bad taste implicit in mocking a person’s physical disability in such a way, I was completely and utterly unable to resist.

I have one small story to report from New Workplace: a customer order was sitting on the counter this week with a note on it that said “ Customer is waiting for “The Power of Now” and will collect when it arrives”. I guess Customer couldn’t wait for someone to write a book called “The Power of Next Week”.

My Toilet Smells Like Pineapple

noreply@blogger.com (Felix for Zosia) — Mon, 04 May 2009 00:40:00 +0000

I think I have taken this whole adult thing a bit too far; my toilet smells like a tinned pineapple. As a welcome to Bilingual Jane, I bought one of those things that you hang off the side of the toilet bowl that releases nice smells when you flush, and also some drain cleaner. I though both these products were very adult indeed. The little thing for the toilet bowl is yellow and on the packet it says it is citrus but it really does smell like pineapple: possibly tinned or perhaps even glazed. When I tipped the drain cleaner down the shower drain it smelt like wet cardboard, only very strong and extremely toxic wet cardboard. It did work though, and now the smell has gone so we are left with the waft of pineapple.

The other day I went to David Jones and looked at all the grandma clothes. I tried on several cardigans.

I Am So Adult Right Now

noreply@blogger.com (Felix for Zosia) — Fri, 24 Apr 2009 03:37:00 +0000

In my youthful folly, my ambition was always to become an enigmatic, self-contained bohemian. It seemed to me a noble, if slightly irrational, goal. Over the years I gradually let the ambition drift off my To Do list, and, just as gradually, another life goal replaced it. This was to become adult.

For some reason, it was much harder than I thought. I didn’t feel adult when I was 18 and legally able to drink. That sort of loses its novelty factor when you have grandparents who try to force vodka down your throat from the age of 12 at family lunches.

I didn’t feel adult when I left home for the first time and lived overseas on my own. Maybe because I mostly indulged in very teenage ambitions, like eating chocolate and fried chicken every day. Or maybe it was because I travelled with a friend so I spent the first few months sharing a bedroom, and it was like being 11 again. We even squabbled.

I didn’t feel adult when I learnt to drive, but that was probably because I kept crashing other people’s vehicles. I could never afford a car of my own because I spent so much money paying off other people’s dented doors and smashed windscreens. When I finally got a car of my own I called it Humbug so that I could swear at it and call it by name at the same time when it backfired or wouldn’t start. It saved a lot of time.

However, now that I am finally old enough to be too embarrassed to tell anyone how old I am, I think I am finally an adult. I have done some very adult things recently. I signed a lease all on my own for the first time ever. Several hours after that, I became a landlady for the first time. (Guess who my tenant is? Bilingual Jane!) But the most adult thing of all happened next, and it was the total clincher: I preheated the oven. Let’s just pause and review here: I preheated the oven. Not only did I plan to cook something in an oven for goodness sake (which seems so much more grown up than a mere stovetop), I got into the kitchen*, assembled my ingredients, and decided the first thing to do was preheat the oven. Sometimes I astound myself.

*let’s call it a ‘conceptual kitchen’ because all that changes to divide up the space is the floor surface