I didn’t go to Brownie’s or Guides. I was a bit of a sceptical little child and was convinced that it was some kind of cult and, honestly, I was scared that I would leave with a tattoo and an obligation to pay a cult leader forever. But I do believe that their motto was (or maybe it was one of those similar cults) ‘Always be Prepared’. So that is what this blog is about – being prepared.
Part of growing up is finding who you are, it’s navigating the tricky path to find your spirit animal and to understand your inner child. It’s a beautiful journey of self discovery and choosing to be wonderfully, perfectly, happy. It’s clean eating, yoga, and drinking 4000 litres of water a day. You will never be a true grownup unless you wake up every morning and plaster a giant smile on your face from the minute your kale smoothie touches your lips.
Except that’s all bollocks.
The challenge when cooking for your parents is balancing sophistication with that little bit of helplessness that your parents expect from you. Obviously, the preferable situation is for them to cook – after all they love feeding you. The second choice is that they take you out to dinner and pay, because they have secure jobs and a mortgage they’ve finished paying off, and you are likely to never have those things because they voted for Brexit. Nevertheless, every now and then, you may find yourself in the situation where you have invited them round and misguidedly offered to cook them a meal.
Look at that incredibly catchy and intelligent title. What will this blog be about, I wonder? Wow. I cannot wait to win an award one day for titles with flair and style.
Anyway. On to the good* stuff.
If you want to be an adult then you are going to need to accept sooner or later that adults don’t get to have hopes and dreams, they get cars and mortgages, and that, ladies and gentlemen, is apparently better.
I toyed with the idea of completely losing myself to cliche and calling this ‘How to Lose a Job in 10 Days” but I’m fairly confident that I can help you lose your job in much less than that.
In my 25 years of being alive I have held 9 jobs in total. In the ye olde olden days you had one job and that was it, you were strapped in for life. If I lived back then, my job probably would have been being dead. I have very few skills. I doubt I would have made it out of childbirth alive, and if I did, then I would certainly be one of those TB ridden, pale ghosts coughing up blood in the corner.
Once you have mastered your CV and filled it with unpaid work that has broken your soul, and you have spent three months applying for 1000 jobs, you may actually land yourself an interview.
Interviews are the worst of all human inventions. You spend hours beforehand preparing lies about how the job as an Associate to the Executive Manager of Marketeering and Conservation efforts for a funeral home is the role of your dreams, and how you would be honoured to take up the mantle. You will also have to wear your most uncomfortable clothes and shoes, because apparently experiencing physical pain from clothing demonstrates your willingness and eagerness to get the job.