Growing Pains.
"So let me get this straight," S said to me. "You are applying for a job in Italy?" I grinned proudly. "Yes". "To live with Italians?" "Yes". "And work with Italians?" "Yes". "But you don't speak Italian?" "... No". I bowed my head in mock-shame and my housemate laughed. "That is so typically you," she told me. "No plan, just fingers crossed". If I didn't suffer from high self esteem I may have been upset by that. I seem to be a constant source of amusement to my housemates, who take my custard experiments (sweet scrambled eggs), dress sense ("Bloody hell! You look like Felicity Kendal on speed!) and student status (I sleep a lot) all in good nature, sprinkled with only a hint of sarcasm and a barely visible solemn shake of the head as I tuck into my veggie burger whilst they eat Spaghetti Puttanesca or similar. "You are so bloody weird that you're a vegg