I bought a rug
I bought a rug the other week.
By the time I entered my credit card details, I had spent about four hours browsing the internet for the perfect rug. The rug I bought is hardly perfect (and I have not measured my room, so based my purchase on a vague hope and strong prayer) but it is grey and orange, and when it arrived a few days later, I was incredibly pleased. It remains rolled up in the corner of my living room and I will not unfurl it until the (blue) sofa arrives next weekend, because I want to be genuinely surprised by the folly/genius of buying things off the internet, untested. As someone who has been known to wear new shoes straight out of the store, this is a very difficult task. But I am staying resolute because the stakes are so low, and I already know I am too lazy to send anything back.
Here's a thing: It's been so long since I bought new furniture. I had forgotten how expensive it is.
I read – and gently mocked – this piece, about the trend against manscaping a few weeks back. But then the sun got its hat on, and I dutifully bought a fancy razor with self-lathering coconut milk and almond oil, and shaved my legs. Look, unlearning some shit is hard, even if you happen to grow very fine leg hair that you could ~technically~ go months without bothering with. I do not know where liking the sensation of ultra-smooth legs in the summer months ends, and where The Patriarchy™ begins.
On Saturday morning I went to the beach with friends. We listened to Lemonade ("Sorry" remains the track that get me the most hype) for most of the drive, and got there early. And then we lay down in relative isolation from the rest of the beachgoers and drank cider and ate crisps and fruit, and had lovely little chats between light naps. There was a naked man nearby – completely nude except for a hat – and I don't think I will ever get used to this. I am the wrong sort of European for that, I suppose, because strangers' willies in the wild will always make me laugh. I had no bathing suit myself (but I just bought this one) so I wore my dungarees and felt my ultra-smooth legs pleasantly boiling under the morning sun. Later that night, I wore a very short skirt and I did not think about my legs once while I was out. So that's that.
For now.
I understand the rules of basketball now. It's no tennis, mate.