I think that as a blogger, in the face of the public eye, I have a duty to the readers to keep up to date with new an innovating discoveries, in turn passing on my knowledge. At school today I learnt a new contraceptive method. Some of you may already be vary familiar with this so I apologise in advance if I am preaching to the converted. The term used is ‘douching,’ I believe, and is a fairly complex procedure which can be used when the ‘withdrawal’ method fails. After sex, having ejaculated in to the vagina, the man then takes a carbonated beverage, shakes it, and then opens it, aiming it in to the vagina in order to ‘flush out’ the semen thus preventing the lady from becoming pregnant.
My worst fears have been confirmed; old ladies really do talk about knitting. And it doesn’t stop there, it’s creeping up on middle-aged ladies too. I was at work yesterday afternoon clearing some tables when two frumpy women embarked on their conversation concerning quilting. After fifteen minutes or so I came back and the subject had moved on to a recent quilting exhibition that had been held at the local high school. Fair enough. Later in the evening I overheard their conversation take a sudden turn as they began to discuss the making of woollen garments and I swear that they were there for at least an hour before I was able to eavesdrop again and find out that one was analysing the technique used to make a certain scarf. Now, it is possible that this conversation was interspersed with other, more exciting anecdotes but seriously! Is the future that bleak? I want to know how long I’ve got, when does it start setting in, this submissive domesticity… is there a time limit on us before the dynamic and interesting parts of our brain shut down?
I feel like ‘the Little Engine who could.’ Last night, against all odds, I started and finished my World Literature essay on Camus’ The Outsider. It was such a good feeling when I handed it up to my pasty English teacher who’s dry sarcasm is so ambiguous that you never really know where you stand. He was sure that I was going to rock up with some feeble excuse. And so was I. But something about the combination of 1:00am and many a chocolate bud (the little drops of chocolate you’re supposed to use in cooking) was strangely inspiring.
This is SO not cool. I something bit my eye and now it has swollen up and I look like the nutcase off ‘There’s Something About Mary.’ L
Note: This blog was written by Erin Wallis