How much do I hate unpacking stuff? *This* much.
I had a really quiet sleepy Christmas, which was cool, it was what I wanted. Reading a book in a day, practising a new stoopid computer puzzle, stuffing my face. Yum.
Last year I went running on Christmas Day, ate little, and still put on half a stone in three days at my family’s house. This year I decided it’d go better if I tried to out-eat them all. I’m just going to finish these huge packs of foreign choccie bickies before I weigh myself, though, or they’ll end up in the bin.
Before I unpacked anything, I was shamed by reading Creepy Lesbo’s blog (commenting on the pubes on the floors of blokes who never vacuum) into hoovering my flat. It’s only been about four, maybe five months since I last did it, and I’ve swept up regularly. Like, proper, effortful sweeping, hands and knees affair. I’m sure women don’t have as many loose pubes as men. Although I’m not about to count, nor to do an online quiz, because the ones round the back would be too difficult to get the number right.
Ack, well, there was an entire Dyson cylinder worth of dust there. Can’t see any obvious pubes inside the cylinder, though – of any hue. And I’ll skip the top household tips, because you probably know better than me that you should never hoover energetically while wearing a long dangly fringed scarf. Took four hard throat-wrenches before the penny dropped and I took the thing off.
My cats hate me and meowed for two and a half hours in my car. I gave up and put some Estonian choral music on loud, and they meowed almost in time.
Vanessa (London, UK)
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