It’s been a while since my last diary entry. I’ve been busy, if you haven’t noticed by the fact that nearly all of my blog posts since the beginning of the semester were related to my Journalism course in one way or another.
I’ve been reading, note-taking, and enjoying life too much to really make a dent in my grandiose plans for my blog. Fear not, though: there’s some new things coming your way.
Anyway, the past few months have been exciting. I live in an apartment, which may sound pretty normal, but then you’ve got to take into consideration that I never have before. Which means I enjoy doing the dishes, cleaning, cooking, whatnot. It’ll rub off in a few more months, but until then, I enjoy having the responsibility. Which brings me to my next point.
Among my roommates, I’m now known colloquially as “the housewife”.
Let me explain, and it’s not a very long explanation. I cook, and I do the dishes, so apparently that’s enough to get me permanently marked as the “girl of the household”. *grumbles*
I don’t mind it, though. I’ve actually grown fond of it somewhat (or perhaps I’m just convincing myself that there are a lot more feminine names they could’ve given me). It’s all in jest, I’m sure.
Although there’s still a small part of my mind that lashes out at this ignominy, and it says something like this: “I’m an accomplished swimmer, part-time weightlifter, and I wear deodorant, so how the hell am I a housewife?”
The best way to respond to a supposed insult is to take it as a compliment, or so I’ve heard. I’m even thinking about buying an apron.