Living On My Own

as Queen sang, can have its drawbacks. In other words: I need a wife!!!!

And yes, you got got me right, a) I'm female, b) I need a wife, and c) my English is good enough to know the difference between husband and wife.

Yet behind me lies a weekend that was so stereotypically >>bachelor<< , that I think I need a woman to take care of my household.

Saturday: Sleep in. Shuffle to the kitchen. Put cornflakes in a bowl. Cover with milk. Shuffle back to bed. Totally normal... And then I found out the milk was closer to cheese than to its originally intended state. Great start.

Sunday: Around 5pm start thinking about dinner. Options: Canned potato soup, crisps, or simply mayonnaise. Make mental note: I need to go shopping. Back to the kitchen. Dispose of the onions that look like a spring meadow. Rice. Not good, means that I have to wash the pan later. Same goes for pasta. Kebab? Nah, crossing the street is too far a journey, and £2.70 too much for a second-best solution. So? Look at the can of soup long enough to make it look desirable. Look... and look... and look... what's that thing in the cupboard corner? A Spanish salsa-dip thingy. Yummy. Check date on bottom of jar. 200... 9? Look more closely. 200... 3?!? Right. Postpone mulling over the issue of " but I only came to Dundee in 2004, how did that happen?". Look around - notice the crisps again. Well, why not...?

The sauce actually was really nice. And the fact that I live to tell the story proves it can't have been too bad.

But I need a wife.