For reasons into which I would rather not go my bathroom is currently full of towels. I don't mean there are a lot of towels in my bathroom - I mean it is full of towels. Wet ones. On the floor.
For related reasons the launcdry is full of clumps of white fluff that make it look as though a poodle has been brutally done to death there. These are minor, if messy, matters but it has got me thinking about the slightly mad things people can do when they're by themselves.
As I'm only just starting to discover, when you're by yourself there's nobody around to query the wisdom of what you do. Leave the slightly crusty plates in the sink for another day why don't you. Who needs a plate when you can make and eat that omlette right in the frying pan and why is drinking in bed not okay again?
Most of this stuff is all good, of course. I can stay up until 2am watching Biggest Losers: Where Are they Now and nobody needs to know I wasn't up late working on the magnum opus or reading Tolstoy or something. I can drink a bottle of wine for dinner and pretend I may one day cook the eggplants cluttering up the vegetable crisper.
On the downside, of course, there is nobody to stop me doing the kind of mental things that lead to the poodle-fluff situation or the bathroom flood.
But, hey, at least nobody ever needs to know about them. This is just between you and me, right?
2 comments:
Um no Johnsy you've been misinformed - I swear I was reading Tolstoy all night...
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