Last time I checked in to this column, I was moping around my parents’ increasingly empty, box-filled house with an expression similar to that of a 29-year-old child who has just dropped their ice cream. I was bracing myself for the big move out of their villa and into my own apartment – aka the real world. Now, a month in to living in my own (totally awesome) flat, I’ve learned plenty of life lessons.
Let’s start with some positives. Number one: after numerous supermarket trips, I’ve discovered, that I have the lifting power of The Hulk. On arrival at my apartment building with a brand-new microwave in tow,
I could barely get my arms around the box. But I’m proud to report I single-handedly (or bear hugged-ly) carried it to my seventh-floor apartment, where it shall remain forever.
Yet while I may have the power of a superhero, I unfortunately do not have the go-go-Gadget arms of Inspector Gadget. I learned this the hard way when the tricky zipper on a dress I planned to wear to a work event would not budge. This is where experience as a Cirque du Soleil contortionist would have come in handy; in the end, a kind colleague picked me up on her way to the party to pull up the zip.
I’ve learned that my neighbours, however, may not be so dependable. Last week I came home to find that the voucher I’d left on my front doorstep for the water delivery man had been taken – and not by the water delivery man. My fourth lesson? I’ve never been great at housework, yet I find myself religiously washing every dish approximately a minute after I’ve finished eating. I guess you can teach an old dog new tricks.
However, somewhat ironically, I’ve discovered the best thing about living on my own (apart from the fact that I don’t have to clean up others’ mess) is that I spend most of the weekend at my friends’ homes. I guess these days, I’m more sociable. And I’m even more likely to pay visits if said home is equipped with a pool table and Jacuzzi. Luckily, the house in question belongs to my very accommodating sister. Here’s to family – and to another five days in my own pad, with microwavable goodies, several tonnes of water and spotless crockery. Until the weekend, that is.
Jenny Hewett is one of Time Out’s Shopping & Style Editors. She is currently on the lookout for a zipper-less dress
