It's official. I've reached that stage in life where snuggling up at home dressed head to toe in pug paraphenalia (because apparently I'm harbouring quite the pug pyjama collection) has quite aggressively taken over heading out on the piss. Should I be worried that I've reached this stage at the ripe old age of 24? Hell no. To be honest, I'm more worried about this new found granny-status having a negative impact on my thighs cos the only shapes I'm throwing at 11pm on a Saturday night these days are triangular pizza slices into my mouth. Happiness quota exceeded.
I don't know whether it's my growing aversion to hangovers, my age nearly hitting a quarter of a century, finally realising that I have literally nothing to prove to anybody, anywhere - or a mix of all three of the above, but give me a candle, a rom-com and a cheap bottle of Tesco prosecco anyday and I am YOURS, brother. Yep, I make the world's cheapest date. #silverlining
No comments