I have my singing lesson in 20 minutes, so I’m here to typey type type. Monkey, my pet cockatiel, is helping by ripping up bits of paper with important writing on it.
It’s sort of an exercise in if I can be creative in X amount of time – my guess is probably not.
Now, Monkey is watching. Waiting. Chewing on my screen.
Highly doubtful that I will come up with anything, I’ll bet. Look at those eyes.
I believe in you… kinda…
STOP CHEWING THE SCREEN!
Whatever. You’re boring.
I had to practise my future mother skills today as my partner spilled not only his tea but also his glass of water on the expensive rug in the living room. (Listen to me – I sound like a posh lady.) He asked for my help, and then sat next to me on the floor as I dabbed madly away. After about 5 minutes, I thought, hang on, why am I cleaning this mess up?
So I told him to take over, and of course, true to every male I’ve ever lived with, pretended he didn’t know what he was doing. Nice try, 36-year-old future father of my children but no dice.
Well, I best be off to the ol’ lesson. Put Monkey back in his cage for me, will ya?