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I am that girl you knew in University who made curtains out of an old duvet set, who always had painkillers/plasters/whatever in her handbag (mine is a behemoth black patent number from Tesco). The one who will meet any crisis with tea, soothing words and a swift kick up the arse. I will grant the fact that I am so good at the dealing with an academic crisis because to be honest I kind of sucked at the whole academic route, I could only be arsed if the class was interesting. Not the best when you’re in undergrad history. Still the point being I’m not the Drama llama, I am the girl who will when cornered in a club by an upset girl who starts on the “why does every one think I’m a slut?” make the suggestion that shorts are the solution, and a fuck you attitude.
Why then am I making pains to detail the ways in which I am a boring old fart at the ripe old age of 22? Because I’m running away. I am packing up all my stuff, giving away the things I don’t need or can’t transport and running away with Punkboy. Oh and I’ve dropped out of University,just in case you were wondering.
This dork is running away to England to be with her boyfriend of not very long (I will grant the fact that I have known Punkboy for years, but it’s different when there’s nakedness involved.) I have less than six weeks left on my lease, my friends are all super happy for me, even Tallman. My Dad is making happy noises, I’m blithely ignoring all the noises that pertain to small people. My mother’s family are all horrified, in a state of catatonic shock. Can’t be helped, I’m not like them, I take after Mum but she died in 1996 so i can’t get her opinion on it all but Dad thinks she’d be stoked for me.
So am I crazy? Surely the midlands can’t be much worse than the Central belt? And why do I always end up living so far inland when I love the coast?
Anyway take care for now, I’m off to raid the cupboards (I’m house sitting for Dad’s girlfriend)
Love Minnie x