I now have the whole bed to myself but still have the option to hang off the edge sometimes if I chose to.
I can cry at sad Katy Melua songs and not be seen as a big wuss.
The bathroom is always assessable in times of need without me knocking frantically at the door with legs crossed bouncing crazily
Big spiders are now insect friends, not a reason the have a heart attack as the other person leaps dramatically from the armchair shrieking “spiiiiider!”
Glasses are now drinking vessels not temporary humane rescue spider homes.
Wet tights drying no longer obscure my vision when bathing or moving from room to room.
Farting at home can no longer be blamed on the cat so it becomes ok to do guilt free.
I have found new meaning the term ‘DIY’ which is actually pleasurable, doesn’t require a drill or an interminable visit to B&Q, and on average takes about five minutes.
Cat hairs no longer festoon my clothes and a fortune has been saved in rolls of sellotape used to remove them.
Leo Sayer, Kate Bush and Bowie albums are now for occasional nostalgic listening to; not a reason for dismissal as 70s crap.
Dancing naked slightly drunk in the front room (with curtains closed) feels great. Forgetting nakedness and nipping into kitchen for another glass is slightly dangerous, however. Although I have seen my elderly neighbour Betty smiling a lot recently so perhaps there is a benefit after all.
Shopping for domestic goods and food being a singleton means I am less likely to buy enough food for a small country, stuff it all in the cupboards and fridge spaces and threw half of it away two weeks later.
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