There are several things I have pretty much no interest in. One is fashion,regardless of how many classically gorgeous models I know (like @Thogii. See her pics on gettingontherunway.blogspot.com.),or how many fabulous fashion bloggers I just happen to be acquainted with (@nigmwa). Fashion mostly bores me. I stopped dressing myself a while ago. Now I just let @Thogii and @colourme_bad,or my sisters,pick out my wardrobe. It’s easier. They whine less.
I care not for hair (as faithful blog followers would know). The only thing I care less for than hair is politics and football. Years in a salon you can never get back. Even dreads feel like too much work for me (more on my laziness later). Weaves are an act of stupidity – if they’re cheap,that is,and I can’t fathom spending so much on something that doesn’t last forever/isn’t gold-plated/doesn’t fart wisdom and diamonds,or piss glitter in the very least/doesn’t taste good and/or give me a lap dance. Wigs are,in the words of Plum,a (hairy sweat-inducing) hat on your head. AND everyone knows it’s not your real hair ANYWAY. (Like people who get work done. Seriously? You think it looks natural when you have ONE expression?) Braids make me physically sick for a week. I kid you not. If I could,I’d go bald. But I can’t. I hate the itch when hair is growing back…anywhere…so I just don’t cut it. Easier. I whine less.
Children. Don’t get me started.
And,cooking. I can’t cook. Don’t get me wrong,I love food. Deeply. But making it…I can’t be bothered. I’ve never had to be (this took much evasive action to avoid my mother. Even I don’t know how that happened). I’ve never wanted to learn. And the patriarchally-minded insinuation behind me not cooking,rooted in the fallacious idea that it makes me less of a woman makes me dig my heels in on this side of the fence even more. Frequent followers,again,know that I like to rebel against society with no cause. Stick it to the man and all that.
It was bound to catch up with me. This year,I decided that next year was for moving out. It must be done. Growth and all that (read wild,debauched parties). And so,I have a feeling my dear mother will look for reasons to stop me. The easiest and quickest is my acquired and well-honed laziness. Next in line? “You can’t eat furniture,you know.” “You don’t have enough for a maid. Guess you can’t leave,unless you enjoy starving…” So…I’m going to choke learn how to gag cook. Sigh. Damn society. Damn not being able to/not making enough to live on fast food and restaurants alone. Damn adulthood.
I make a mean hot chocolate fudge cake,though.
tSN
Hot chocolate fudge cake 😀 You know what you should do? Invite friends over on sundays and have them cook the food for you then make sure they leave enough to get you through the week.
Baaaas!!!! Patikana!!!!
I felt pressure to succumb to the whole 'learning how to cook' situation as I read this. The pressure lasted 5 seconds and now it's gone. As I go to the cafeteria for dinner. There's just never a need!
@thewriter now THAT's a plan. I'll just buy the drinks and they won't notice. LOL. Actually, knowing my friends, they'll see right through me lol
@willpress it wasn't a secret! THBBBBPPPPT!!!!!
@Abba, I thought you can cook? How have I been deluded this entire time? LOL 5 second pressure. That's the way.
You have a budding fashion sense, you should give yourself more credit…like a bamba 50 kinda worth 🙂
Good luck with the moving out thing…I am sure the overwhelming reality-check will act as fodder for your oddly transparent and exciting life.
…I want to taste this so-called “mean hot chocolate fudge cake”
kisses.
@Nigel yeah, warm my heart, why don't you. Reality? I laugh in the face of reality. My cake is mean. Believe it.