Got a Henry Hoover. The man in the shop called out his name like he was a child waiting to be picked up from school. Is this what being 27 is? Running giddily towards a hoover? I quite like it...
I've also been busy this week buying bathmats, tiny easels and framing postcards of oddly shaped toys with strange eating habits.
I think I have become a domestic goddess. This is what it is to be clean and organised, right?
Sort of.
If only I could get the hang of keeping plants alive...
I feel like they are mocking me every time I come home to see another one withering away in the corner.
WHAT IS GOING ON. I FED YOU WATER. I LOVED YOU. YOU LOOKED GOOD. WHAT HAPPENED.
WHAT CHRISTMAS TREE LOOKS THIS DEAD ALL THE WAY THROUGH CHRISTMAS AND INTO SPRING?! WHY ARE YOU THE ONLY ONE. WHY CAN'T YOU SEE HOW SAD I AM.
Maybe if someone else waters them (Joe, I mean you) they will give in and live another day?
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