Right. First of all, sorry James, I know this is not the blog entry you are looking for. But this literally only just came to my notice and as I sit here in my jamas an hour away from sleep time I can either watch another episode of Heroes or write a very small blogette - so here it is.
My flatmate's girlfriend has recently sort of unofficially sort of moved in, as girlfriends are wont to do. This is fine and dandy, and she is lovely. No problem.
The one thing I don't understand though, is the bathroom.
She has so. Much. Stuff. And I don't even know what most of it does. Seriously. I find it fascinating. There's potions and serums (I don't think I've ever owned a 'serum' in my life - apart from anything else it always sounds a bit rude and well, kind of, organic, if you see what I mean), and oils and creams and loads of makeup of that really expensive sort that you buy in department stores from terrifying looking women that spray you as you walk past (with perfume, not in a territory marking way. That would be wrong).
Now. I wouldn't mind, but now I'm not sure whether, as a girl, I'm supposed to have all this stuff too. I just have no frame of reference. For comparison, my shelf comprises:
A toothbrush.
Half a tube of Clean and Clear (because that's what I've washed my face with since I was 15 and I see no reason to confuse myself with change).
A very sticky pot of hair gel.
Dalek shaped bubble bath, and
A bottle of Sailor Matey.
All of which currently look vaguely embarrassed against this new influx of spa treatments and cleansing micro-bio-wankenoids.
Pffff.
Ah well. Back to Heroes.
*sigh*
Roger.
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