I also really want to get proper sledgehammer drunk at christmas. This, as you may expect coming from a rather tame middle class family, is not really the norm post Turkey din dins. The parents both conspire that they'll have exactly enough wine that they can't drive (no more, no less), so heading out to wild parties in Manor House isn't really an option (thanks TFL, you party poopers). The result? I'm stuck in a tipsy haze being forced to watch Downton Abbey.
We somehow and to my monumental happiness managed to avoid Downton Abbey this year, iPlayering Luther instead (that left everyone a little confused? Whats that about, episode 2?), but that after much red wine and fizz, still left me hankering for a party. You know that tipsyness, where you've had just enough that you want to get really fucking wasted? Yes, well thats where I get every year.
So at half 11pm I left the rents house... to go home and feed the cat.
THE CAT. So I guess this year maybe was like being 7 again, I got a kitten. Yep, a real live fluffy cute enough to eat kitten! I got her a week before christmas, and is single handedly the best present I think i've ever received (apart from my first cat I got when I was 10). She's bloody ace, I even find her tiny poos cute. (I'm sure thats a sign to be concerned about my mental health but I only have one cat so far so lets not worry yet people.) I take so many pictures of her (I may need a new phone soon with substantially more space), yet because I am a socially conscious human person, I have decided not to fill up every social media timeline with SUPER adorable pictures of kittens every 5 minutes, but to instead put them all on a tumblr page that no one knows about.*
I definitely feel like a mother of sorts. All my mates now have babies (that's actually not an exaggeration, I would blame going to a comprehensive but even the posh birds have sprogs), and firstly, I can't help feeling sorry that they have a baby human not a baby cat and secondly, I was feeling a little left out. And now I don't. In fact, I feel a little superior. For instance, I can swear in front of the kitten (Misty, she's called) for years to come, and not worry about psychologically ruining her and prematurely socially relegating her to going to a comprehensive school and destroying any chance of lucrative career prospects (#schooloflife #lifelessons #methnotmath)
I have to be home 4 times a day to feed the demanding bitch (see, no trauma), and pick up her shit (yep, still fine), but otherwise motherhood is easy. I feel like a combination of Hank and Karen from Californication; doing what the fuck (um borderline) I want and not actually having to worry about how fucked up ("meeeooowww" (trans: muuum noo!)) Becca/ Misty will turn out to be.
I have found getting up early is now not a problem when I have this tiny mouth to feed, so overall I think she's making me a more functional human being. I suppose this is what responsibility does, and it seems in my head having a job doesn't count as a responsibility, as I'm always late and never want to get up.
The downside is now that half of every blog post will probably be taken up with me banging on about said wonderful kitten, so because of that I am sorry. So I may be more responsible and functioning, but with that comes being boring and talking about things that no one really cares about! I'm sure it was bound to happen at some point, and at least now i'm on the same page as my other baby centric boring mates (if you're all reading this i'm only kiddng hahahaha lol rofl!)
Getting older; or the inevitable dullness of being, I guess?
|ANOTHER OF MY FLUFF BABY!!!!!!|