Secret confessions of living alone

Yes I just headbanged to Bon Jovi whilst doing the washing up. It’ll be our little secret…

That once in a lifetime shot of the tissue ricocheting off the sink and into the bin will only ever be believed by you and you only. Cause no one else was there to see it.

It’s 3am. I’m wide awake. But this means I can watch Jeremy Kyle repeats whilst eating cereal without judgement.

I wish they did salad bags for just one portion. Day-old wilted salad is never appealing and just goes in the bin. Hence forth I shall no longer buy salad.

Same goes with most fresh food. Buying for one is expensive and wasteful. I’ll just fill the freezer with microwave pizzas.

Can’t be assed to find a glass… I’ll drink milk out of the bottle. (I of course never do this Mum… honest.)

I’m enjoying my shower. I think I’ll just stand in here an extra 15 minutes. It’s not like anyone’s waiting to use the bathroom.

It’s Sunday. It’s my right to lie on my bed all day reading trashy magazines in my pants.

It’s ok I leave my gym kit on the bathroom floor for days. Maybe I can trick myself into thinking I go more regularly than I actually do.

Googling methods of how to self administrate the Heimlich maneuver on a regular basis is sensible, not overly paranoid.

Is my ability to do up the zip at the back of my dress with a coat hanger a great talent or slightly tragic?

Having a whole block of Brie for dinner is totally acceptable. If no one else knows about it.

Having the desire to shake the hand of the inventor of dvd box sets.

I hate the sympathetic look the man in Tesco Local gives me when I go into to do my weekly shop: a bottle of cheap wine and a tub of ice cream.

The deep relief, after a day of dealing with other human beings, when you shut the door to the outside world and realise you’re finally alone.


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