About this blog:
As I approach age 30, I find a domestic streak kicking in that I am none too happy about. All of a sudden, children – all children -- are adorable and funny (previously, I subscribed to the mindset that the screamer in the theatre/restaurant/public place should be silenced by any means necessary). Minutae, such as the orientation the toilet paper roll, take on an immense importance for the future (apologies to the bewildered boyfriend); and somehow elucidate what kind of person is behind such detail choices. Baking brings about some fulfillment I had previously not experienced (I like being the Sugar Fairy at parties). And, out of the blue, I make my bed every day and shop in the bulk section of grocery stores. Unfortunately, I am not equipped with any innate skills to confront these urges and compulsions – and such excursions into domesticity often play out like a British sitcom.
Domestic Diva, I never was
1 comment:
Wow, remind me not to invite you over to the new house. It sounds like you are cursed. I hope you get that worked out, for your own safety.
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