In which Yidchick leaks cerebral fluid on her pants...

This is what happens when you educate a woman, tell her she can be anything she wants to, then confine her to a house and make her wash dishes... She starts to set herself inane tasks to keep her sanity in check. Today I peeled an orange, put the peels on the roof of my car and set out to chart how far I could drive before all the peels fell off. The result was a lesson for me in never doubting the potential or tenacity of a truly motivated being. The orange peel travelled all the way from my mother-in-law's house to the shopping mall. It made a detour with me to the petrol station, sneaked into the No Stopping zone in the park and accompanied me home. (Aside: a small insight into the banality of my day). Granted, parts of it were lost along the way, but one die hard take no prisoners monster of a piece stayed with me the entire day. I'm looking out the window now, smiling proudly at the persistant motherfucker, her pockmarked orange skin languidly resting on the boot, as if to say How could you doubt me?

I like food that sticks around. Nuts are good like that too. You can eat a couple after lunch and still have pieces at the back of your teeth for tea. But that orange peel, she's special. If I can hang in like her, I might survive this year of not earning money as my arse gets bigger, my language skills regress to such an extent that I think "poopy" is a legitimate word and my idea of a good sleep is three hours in a row.

Let's hope.