I Think He's Gone Weird
General I Think He's Gone Weird

“I can’t even remember the last time I wore knickers that weren’t my period knickers or a bra that isn’t described at best as “Basic and comfortable.”

Sitting here drinking a cup of tea after a very nutritious dinner of chicken nuggets and 5,000 spuds smothered in cheese, something tells me that judging by the comfort craving, my body is picking up the weird vibe I’m feeling today. And so will the tub of Ben and Jerry’s that I plan to devour in approximately 10 minutes when I’m watching the Notebook, no doubt.

It’s been one of those “What am I doing with my life?” days, which I’m sure many people can relate to. The funny thing is, I do know what I’m doing with my life, I love my life, but sometimes in between buying another faux fur coat and contemplating sending a (very staged, non-grouped) group snap to a lad that defo should not receive a (very staged, non-grouped) group snap from me, a gal can wonder: “Yeah, so what am I doing with my life?” 

As my sister goes home to her partner, my best friend builds furniture with her fiancé, and my Facebook is flooded with newborn babies… it does have me thinking… YIKES. I’m 24 and what do I have to show for it? A damn nice wardrobe from the Penneys reduced rails, the impulse buy anklet I bought today for 3 quid, 800 fluffy pink pens, and a list of men from my local town who aren’t ready for commitment. I can’t even remember the last time I wore knickers that weren’t my period knickers or a bra that isn’t described at best as “Basic and comfortable.”

I know your 20s really are a time where everyone takes completely different paths, but why does mine keep leading me into Penneys, or to that f**kboy hanging out on the second dancefloor? And as for the baby issue, why do I still panic when people ask me if I would like to hold theirs as if this cute little baby is a pet rabbit that bites?

Ah, there’s only one thing that will cure these uncertain blues and quarter-life crisis… a good aul Sex on the Beach as I head towards the second dancefloor in a bra that most definitely cannot be described as “Basic” or “Comfortable.”

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