I am giving myself 15 minutes to write this quick catch up post before the lavender scent on my sheets sends me on the midnight express to Snoozeville.
Zzzzzzz….8 minutes. I’m giving myself 8 minutes. Even now, my eyes are drooping and heavy, but if not now, when? When will I even start to share the Adventures in Veterinary Medicine I have had the past few *eek* months I haven’t written.
I owe you stories. Intense stories of blood and gore, like how I castrated a cat and walked out of the operating room looking as if I had field dressed a grizzly bear with my bare hands….and teeth.
I owe you grand stories of the beautiful Scottish countryside and how I am trying my damnedest to grow into a country vet but it’s going to take a lot more than James Herriot novels to get me there.
I owe you a gem of a story about meeting an aggressive Rottweiler head on to save Huckleberry. And I owe you a story about the best April Fool’s Day joke I’ve ever played.
But today’s stories are the quick ones. Short stores, stories that can’t be too complicated or exciting because they involve love and romance and me generally adjusting to grown up life.
For starters, my love life catch up: I was on Tinder for a week before I ran out of eligible men within 50 km of Edinburgh. I was half expecting to get a message from the executives at Tinder explaining that I was most likely single because I am too damn picky and should “swipe right” more.
*Hi Mom, Tinder is a dating game on the phone where you swipe people’s profile pictures left if you are not interested in them and right if you are. If two people match (both swipe right) then you can talk to each other.
But let’s face it, Tinder could have criticised me for being more than too picky. I also struggled to get a “sexy” profile picture. After spending a lot of time in the late 18th/early 19th century (in my brain) I decided to feature a picture inspired by the very fashions that enticed Mr. Darcy. I wanted one that would show off and enhance my bosom, but gave up when I realised the beagle was coping a feel in it. I don’t even know where that awkwardly placed paw came from.
I went out on a few dates and then Tinder got tired. And I deleted it.
Resigning myself to the fact that I would be doing all my own home improvements by myself for the rest of my life, I accepted my landlord’s challenge to replace the silicone seal (caulk) in my shower (I am also still really bad at saying no to such things).
At first I didn’t understand why he couldn’t be bothered to do it, reading up online, it didn’t seem difficult…ha.
I started off with every good intention to remove all the old nasty sealant….
So, I pulled out a bit of sealant and then applied the new stuff in a thick heavy layer all around the shower. It looks horrendous. (And don’t tell me, it probably won’t be watertight, right?)
But it came at a much higher cost than the £7 tube of sealant I got at the store: I got silicone in my hair and up my nose. I effectively glued my hands together and sealed the drain in my bathroom sink. I sealed myself to a butter knife and I tracked footprints of white sealant across the dark blue carpet. I think I must have eaten some of the stuff, but am still unable to assess whether there is any lasting damage to my taste buds.
Seriously, my landlord will never ask me to do anything handy again. Ever.
And now, it’s reached the point of being past my bedtime once more. But I owe you grand tales of adventure and they are coming. When I have the energy to do them justice. Tonight is the night for hum drum adult life and falling asleep at a sensible hour. It is not the night for adventure…
Goodnight my friends.