because none of us is fucking up like we think we are, is what i'm trying to say

Wednesday, 22 September 2010

Quote, End Quote.

So I sat outside of the house with Jess, having a fag and slurping on the dregs of a blush wine. I know. I spend a few weeks on the continent and I'm all blush wine this and sorry, that's the Italian word that. I've changed, Internet. I've changed. Next I'll be issuing demands to the staff not to look me in the eye and be employing my own nose-blower who will be paid extra for having the skill to navigate the nose piercing. She probably used to work for Joss Stone and is the best nose-blower this side of Barbara Streisand. (I love her.)

I stumped out my menthol on the curb and rubbed my belly. "Bloody hell," I said, "My tummy feels like it is about to explode." I shifted around a bit, aware that having partaken in our first Veggie Lasagna Tuesday I could just be digesting the copious amounts of aubergine and courgette when the main part of my diet whilst fending for myself the past two weeks has been mushroom and gorgonzola pizza. My colon didn't really know what was going on, I reasoned. I'm gonna crack the cistern when I poop later, I then thought.

Veggie Lasagna Tuesday was my big declaration when I moved in. It was the one thing I kept coming back to. I don't know why it had to be Tuesday but I was damned convinced that if I was going to live with my friends that they could expect every Tuesday to be a sort of bonding night. Says me. I was also adamant that I was going to move in and buy a floral tablecloth for the baby pink kitchen. Jess went walking with her boyfriend whilst I cooked, and in my imagination she was saying to him, "And all she has talked about is fucking tablecloths and lasagna and now it is Tuesday and I've got NO FUCKING CHOICE." Damn right girl. Now eat up.

So we sat together on the curb and it came to me.

"I think I need to trump."

Jess looked at me.

I looked at Jess.

Suddenly, I felt like I had crossed a line. That line Mama Williams and Papa Williams made for me that NORMAL PEOPLE DON'T HAVE because NICE GIRLS DON'T FART IN PUBLIC. Nice girls also don't wink old men in supermarkets just to see them drop things in confusion. Memo to self.

"Well if you need to do it," she told me, "Then go ahead."

Jackpot! I think that is one of the rules of true friendship, isn't it? Being given an invitation like that. Like, dude. We're gonna spend a lot of time together and it is better to know each other's scent now rather than get to Christmas and have all kinds of nasty surprises. It goes along with accepting that sometimes you will hear your roomie having sex and not get cross, and yes. Sometimes it is important to eat the bloody lasagna.

I was mulling this thought over as she added, totally as an afterthought, "Oh. But it will smell." A valid point, yes, but alas rather Captain Obvious of her.

I shook my head at her seriously. "Only of roses," I smiled.

She shook her head back at me.

"You really do have high self-esteem don't you?" she replied.


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