Modern fairytale? I think not.

Once upon a time, a girl I grew up with, and a boy the Dude grew up with, met, fell in love, and became engaged. It was like a modern fairy tale- she, just out of a long, hard relationship with a boy who cheated on her, abused her, and ultimately left her for the younger, skinnier variety of girl, was swept up in her vulnerable state by the sweet, hard-working man she'd previously only considered to be a friend...

... then today after the Dude and I waddled home (after a delightful and excessive perch dinner!), Mother Dude descended on us: "Have you heard? Is it true?" Evidently, the sweet, hard-working man isn't what the girl really wanted. It seems she'd left him for a boy not unlike the one she wanted to forget in the first place.

After I heard the rumour (and confirmed it, of course, on facebook), I had to purse my lips- in all honesty, I saw it coming. He was (from what I had heard) extremely inexperienced, and she was on the rebound.

During the quiet drive as the Dude was bringing me back to Das Haus, it suddenly hit me: I can count on two hands (and all ten toes) the number of people I know who are either currently engaged, have been engaged, are married, or (in one girl's case) have been married at one point- all before they are 25. And I wonder, what's the rush? We're in our early twenties, and it still feels like we're teenagers, so eager to grow up. In a world where we're finishing high school in five years, university in four, college for three years after that, and we still don't know what we want to do with our lives, are we really qualified to make this commitment?

I hate to admit that I almost fell under that spell- it's a little exhilarating, feeling like you've found that Romeo, the one that you want to spend the rest of your life with. Sometimes these days even, I find myself with a twinge of jealousy whenever I see a former classmate's engagement ring. But I digress... I learned from my past mistakes (as did my formerly married friend, who is looking for an apartment for herself and her daughter, where her boyfriend can visit a couple times a week).

There have even been a handful of evenings when, after a couple glasses of wine, the Dude and I broached the subject of moving in together, but really... why would I do that? At this moment, I don't even want a room mate, let alone a boyfriend sharing my bed space (and closet space). I like the silence, the option of tuning the world out, enjoying a glass of wine and a book by yourself. To me, a ring doesn't bring instant maturity (or happiness)- paying the bills on my own does (having the bed to myself doesn't hurt either.)

Maybe in ten years, after I've done the college thing, gained a career, accomplished some of my life goals, experienced life on my own, I'll think about moving the Dude into my home.

As long as I find a place with a bigger closet, that is.

In other news.

I took a little inspiration from Tavi in my outfit this morning.

This is what I'm wearing today... except the Roxy top is white with blue birds, not the other way around.

Anyway,

Lost a small battle to the house the other day. For a building that's supposed to be "really well insulated" it gets awfully cold. I threw up some curtains into open doorways and when I'm in the living room I usually keep the curtains and all of the other doors shut.

I went into the bathroom to take a shower and decided to turn on the little heater in there. Lo and behold, when I went to move the boxes that are currently haphazardly shoved into that room, I discovered that the heater was already goddamn on! In a fit of environmental rage (and frugality) I turned off the heater and proceeded to shower without it.

Five minutes later, I throw open the shower curtain and reach for my hand when I notice that not only is it COLD in there, I can see my fucking breath. I'm surprised icicles didn't instantly form on my arm as soon as I moved it outside of the warm confines of the shower. I grab the closest towel, a dingy little hand towel that is oft forgotten, and shut the curtain again as quickly as possible, trying to preserve what warm air I had left from the shower. I tried as best I could to dry myself with a tiny 6-inch-square piece of fabric that spends most of its days hanging limply from a sad towel rack next to the toilet. Needless to say I only got a small portion of one limb dry before the towel gave up and fell dramatically to the ground with a wet "sploosh" sound.

But I was not defeated yet. I remembered my housecoat! The pink fluffy monstrosity that my mother had purchased me years before (along with a pair of pink fuzzy slipper boots)! It lay on the ground, within reach, and would protect me from the cold for the split second that I had to run from the shower to the door. I wrapped the fuzziness around myself as best I could, threw open the shower curtain, took that first step... and...

Tripped. I accidentally caught my foot on the tub and lost my balance, effectively slamming my face into the cold, hard, grimy bathroom tile. My poorly-secured fuzzy pink housecoat fluttered open and my chest received the full force of the impact. My arms shot out to try to secure any sort of leverage to no avail, and my legs flailed uselessly behind me, trying to defy gravity and gain footing on any surface within kicking distance.

I lay, defeated, face down on the bathroom floor until my body realizes that holy fuck this floor is cold, somehow managed to find that footing and leverage that was unavailable during my fall, and booted ass out of the door. I slammed the door shut, leaned against it and started imagining what life will be like without a bathroom. Before my mind could roam to the unpleasant decision of which corner shall now serve as my toilet, and what kind of dish soap would make a less horrible shampoo, I suddenly remembered the items left behind, including my awesome salon-quality hair dryer, and my absolutely favourite La Vie en Rose bra, and realized that by fighting das Haus, I had risked all and lost. I quickly got dressed and, tail in between my legs, walked to work, my damp hair freezing in the chilly outside temperatures.

The entire day I tried not to imagine what life would be like, and I skulked home only to find that The Dude had been the brave one and gone back into the bathroom to rescue my belongings and turn the heat back on.

That is how I was defeated by the house. And also, why I love The Dude.

In 20 minutes, give or take, it will be The Dude's 22nd birthday. As such, I'm drinking as much coffee as I can while his birthday cake is baking in the oven, so it may be ready for when he gets home from work at 3:30 AM.

(Reprayzentin' the CBC!)

Merry Weekend, Everybody!