The World According To Me

A friend is moving in to my house this weekend. She is a good friend, I like hanging out with her and we do hang out a lot together in any event. However, having not lived with anyone since the Pom days, I am a teensy bit apprehensive.

I quite enjoy living by myself. Hold on, that's an understatement. I LOVE living by myself. I love coming home after work and laying on the couch in my underpants watching Deal or No Deal. I enjoy getting up early in the morning and schlepping around in my noisy slippers (which say "You" on one and "Wish" on the other, in gold letters against hot pink velvet. Mmmm, sexeh), vacuuming at odd hours, singing along heartily to whichever tunes I feel like playing and spots of sporadic dancing* when I've got my MP3 player stuck in my ears. I sometimes refuse to wash dishes until I have run out of little spoons and I pile my ironing up on a spare armchair for months on end (which can actually be a good thing because when I actually get around to doing the ironing it's like discovering I have a whole new wardrobe).