Things are looking up!
Yesterday dinner time, we are eating comfort food: mashed potato, gravy and venison sausages.
Her. 'How come you eat like that?'
Me, poised with fork half way to mouth. 'Like what?'
'You eat everything one thing at a time.'
I look at the virgin white mound of potato on my fork. 'Dunno, that's just the way I eat. I don't like stuff mixed up.'
'Not even the gravy?'
'I might dip my sausages in it.'
'But you won't take a bite of sausage and potato together?'
'You're so anal.'
Right, and then this. '...Sienna Miller and blah blah Lindsay..., Branglina! Paris, so weird...'
I don't want to know who any of these people are, but I do. I don't want to, but now I can tell you who Mary Kate Olson is and worse, who she used to date. I know what a Paris Hilton is( some kind of heiress who might well be a fungal growth)
My mind is turning to treacle.
Then there is the morning thing. I am not an early riser. I flalump out of bed about nine. That seems early enough for me, after all I don't have to travel to work. I like to drink coffee and consider the possibility of work for a while. Sometimes I don't bother getting dressed for hours. If the muse strikes I might just work straight through lunch and then go to the gym.
My sister gets up at seven: she makes noise, has showers, blow dries her hair, eats breakfast...all fine during the week, but she does this on the weekend too. She talks first thing in the morning. I do not. She HUMS! She is cheery: I want to kill her.
However- if she is going home- I can put those homicidal thoughts back in the closet with all the other pent up feelings I harbour for members of my family.
I will even help her pack.