My name is Chris, and I am a norm
Today, folks, marks the final phase in my transition
to a normal person – or ‘norm’ as we like to call
them in our contemptuous way. We now have all the
accoutrements of adult life: as well as a filing
cabinet, small economical hatchback and washing
machine, we now own a dining table. For the first
time since either of us left home. No longer will we
have to squat like Neanderthals in the floor,
scooping food into our gaping maws with our fingers*
but can sit like fully-fledged members of Western
society on chairs and use cutlery and everything.
Note that we even plumped for rattan chairs.
Rattan for chrissake. Plus, note the peace
lily on the windowsill. What has become of our
mock-indie credentials? The table even extends so
we have dinner parties. I think I need to have a
lie down.
* Never actually happened. Though I think that if we had not bought this table now, Mrs RH would have bought lap trays. And that really would have been the end.
* Never actually happened. Though I think that if we had not bought this table now, Mrs RH would have bought lap trays. And that really would have been the end.
