On Friday, I dealt with two different lawyers who both told me things I didn’t want to hear. Having never been a client in this sense before, it was, to say the least, a hardcore day. Possibly the most hardcore element was sitting in an office and crying with my nose running, and not being offered a tissue. I quickly discovered there’s no easy way to pretend you’re not wiping your nose when you are. I told Miss M about my experience later that night, and said I’d ended up with snot on my hand. Her reply - did you eat it?

I’ve got myself back under control now (and have tissues well stocked in any bag I carry), and decided how to deal with both instances, but as I was riding back to Richmond on Friday night, I realised the value of having someone to go home and talk to without actually having to talk, if that makes any sense. I have fantastic friends and family, but couldn’t really summon enough energy to recount my tale in any detail, so instead I hung out with my snot loving eight year old who bought me a soft serve from McDonalds. I guess she fits the bill better than I initially thought.

Yesterday, it was finally Miss M’s party - thanks to disorganised parenting, it was two weeks late, but it didn’t seem to matter to her in the least, and in fact, I like to think it was as though she had an extra birthday. She and several of her friends bowled, ate, and played video games, and seemed to have a good time. Our party host was a young girl wearing devil’s horns, and at one point we ran out of sauce - an integral ingredient of any Aussie party. The children discussed how to get more, and Alex casually said “we have to ask the devil”. Luckily I wasn’t drinking anything at the time, because I may have choked while laughing.

After the party, I went to see the little house again, this time with my neighbours, who very kindly measured, inspected, had Miss M and her friend Madelyn jump on floorboards to see if they creaked, and generally gave it their seal of approval. I liked it even more the second time. Ditto the real estate agent since I patted his dog while talking details after the inspection. It’s probably a total ploy, but a dog wins me over every time.

Today I’m loving: Pilchen, who is purring more loudly than a small cat should