There are many things to be gained from growing older, one of which is a growing sense that the things that people think about you actually don't matter shit unless you allow them to. I am a 30 year old woman, unmarried, hate children, broke as hell, a university student, and am covered in increasingly ridiculous body art. I live in a flat that I have lovingly named "the crap shack"... one of it's saving graces is the other two people who inhabit it, my boyfriend, a cynical tattooist, and our friend, also a perpetual student who can't seem to decide what she wants from her life and is too fucking nice for her own good...along with our new rescue cat who is neurotic and has no pants due to the fact that he has systematically removed them with his tongue.
Today we had a phone line technician come in to fix our broadband, and I discovered that everyone who sets foot in this house turns into a freak, allbeit temporarily. He walked in straight faced and looking apprehensive at the sight of two girls in their PJ's, and we slowly wore him down to the point where he couldn't understand why the phone was not working, until I pointed out that it was not plugged in. His cheeky parting comment was "we won't bill you for this, you obviously can't afford it" which was met by a gale of laughter and two middle fingers as he trotted down the driveway laughing to himself.
Life isn't always fun and games though, especially when you have rent to pay and only one cent in the bank... we will get to that next time.
