I was lounging in my dressing gown last night, googling pictures of your man that played Nate in The Devil Wear’s Prada, when I started to think about decisions. You see, Nate was feckin’ gorgeous – with a more dangerous kind of look than the striking James Bond type, he was cute and ordinary looking enough to make you believe that maybe even you could find him at the bar in Electric some night. But Nate was also a big baby! Remember he threw that strop in the movie when he thought his birthday was more important than his girlfriend’s writing career?! Ugh. So, as I sat there in my dressing gown, I stopped drooling, and came to a decision.
“If I ever happen to have a boyfriend with a mop of curls you’d love to bring home to Mammy, I won’t let him come between me and my writing… even if he does have ice cool blue eyes that would cure the worst of hangovers” I decided.
This got me thinking about all the other decisions that I have made recently, and how they have altered my life. For example, last week I decided to buy myself a stapler, and my life has never felt more together.
Last month, I decided to replace binge watching Netflix with binge reading books. The month before that, when I was getting nostalgic for strong eight year old Tull-Meister who could take on her brothers in a wrestling match, I decided to exercise with a goal to become strong rather than to “stay in shape”. (Now, I’m not exactly a gym bunny. I’m more of a let’s sit in a café with scones and books kind of bunny, so this decision was never going to be an easy one. The majority of my workout attempts have involved me sweating and screaming in the style of a movie birth-scene, rather than a fun fitness video. But there is a lot of hope that I will be wresting my brothers like back in the 90’s very soon).
Now, before I go off on a tangent about how learning to wrestle your brothers is actually lot healthier than exercising to become a certain size (the daft idea of constantly striving for weight loss is simply female oppression if you ask me!)… There’s one particular decision I made this academic year that changed my life, and I think we need to talk it.
I moved out of my student accommodation, and into a palace.
When I say palace, I mean my aunts beautiful home, with a dishwasher, heating, and lots of other complete novelties that do not exist in the realm of student accommodation.
(my new bedroom)
Since my aunt (who is beautiful, warm and tidy, just like her house) took me in, I don’t know myself! It was an adjustment at first, because I am essentially a house guest, and house guests are … weird. They are basically friendly spies – going around your home, collecting information about you, like if you shower daily or not, and taking note of that Wine for Dummies book you bought in the airport seven years ago. They are intrusions to a person’s primary territory – and I think that is why our natural instinct is to not allow them to stay any longer than a couple of nights. So, I tried my best to fit into my aunts primary territory, and not appear like a spy at all, by doing the things that she does, like talking about work and general adult life.
“Kev in my work office is really annoying me” I’d begin.
“Caoimhe, you work in a coffee shop, with all girls….”
“Oh yes, ammm sorry, the stock market has got me all frazzled. Would you like to go … lampshade shopping some day?”
When she looked at me like my head had turned into an actual lampshade, I realised I had to come up with a better way of convincing her that I could be an adult, that I could fit in.
So, I did what all experts would advise in these scenarios, and wrote down a list of my strengths.
1. I make a great lemon sponge.
2. I don’t listen to reggae music (much).
3. I follow Home and Away religiously.
4. I’m a good sturdy build (I can’t borrow/steal slim aunts clothes).
5. I can write.
I have since learnt that lemon sponge loses its novelty quite quickly, and that sometimes a simple “thank you” can do the job. (If not, it might help to write about it).