The real estate agent called… finally the vendor made a decision on the house. The decision is… no decision. She won’t sell for the amount I offered, and she wants a heap more money. Fat chance. I mean, it’s a nice place, but I think what I offered is possibly stretching what it’s worth. If it was worth more, others would be offering more.
Ah well, so at least I know now. So with just over a month until I have to move, I’m officially back on the rental bandwagon. I’m not too shattered. Over the past week or two I’d wondered if it really was the right place for me. Fairly small garden… body corporate stuff… could mean hassles later. I’ll save more dosh and try again in 6-12 months, and probably find something much better that’s really worth getting into astronomical debt for.
And now for something completely different.
A few days ago I was having a conversation with someone about how I don’t talk about my bodily functions in my diary. Well, except vomiting of course. Vomit gets good coverage (ugh).
Well I’m about to. Not vomit – talk about bodily functions. So feel free to skip the rest of this if you’re my mother, or if you think it’ll make you queasy.
I write this with some trepidation as I feel certain that after reading this, you’ll think I’m a bit strange. But then you probably thought that anyway.
My toilet doesn’t work very well. It’s another nail in the coffin for my flat – if I didn’t have to move out next month, I’d be planning to move out this year anyway. While the flush is generally successful, frequently some paper is left behind. This of course is not very pleasant, which is why when I am expecting visitors I will often give it a couple of extra flushes to get all traces of anything thoroughly dispatched down the S-bend. Under normal circumstances however I just try to ignore it, after all, there is a water shortage on, and I’ll be moving out soon.
Yesterday afternoon I went to use the toilet, and being a bloke and not needing to do Number Twos on this occasion, I stood. Down in the toilet bowl was some toilet paper. Not much, but totally sodden, and floating at or near the surface of the water. I started, and decided to aim for the toilet paper. To my surprise, my pee ripped through it, chopping it neatly in half, like some kind of laser beam cutting through the wing of a stranded aeroplane trapped at the bottom of the ocean being rescued byThunderbird 4.
Momentarily I had a sense of awesome power. Until I remembered it was just sodden toilet paper I was chopping through.
There, told you you’d think I’m a bit strange.