Just as I thought I was maturing into a cooking, cleaning (I did ALL the dishes last night), shoe-wearing, Shakespeare-quoting adult, a gang of apparently adolescent thoughts infiltrated my head. 

My immediate reaction to this was, "No he didn't - he has 20-odd children".

And then, my philosophy lecturer decided to say "Kant" with an American accent in order to avoid saying "cunt". I found it rather amusing and even puerile that he would imitate a foreign accent just for a single name. But, he then called Kant "ballsy", and I couldn't help but chuckle at the oxymoron.

Kant jokes are just too easy.

Source: http://stickyembraces.tumblr.com/post/20139415818/replacing-kants-name-with-its-vulgar-homophone

Source: http://kapitalisten.files.wordpress.com/2011/11/kant-touch.jpg?w=490

Source:http://sphotos-b.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-snc7/430481_324009584322921_352033579_n.jpg

Source:http://i.qkme.me/3r58ki.jpg

This isn't a Kant joke, but we were discussing Zeno's paradox earlier today, so I decided it was relevant. Source:http://25.media.tumblr.com/8db873595c3738178d03ea9cd378b407/tumblr_mh9fo2WO4V1qzoanto1_400.pngchildish

 But soft! What light through yonder breaks? It is some hope, and successful adulthood is the sun. Arise, fair sun!

By Shakespeare's beard, the sun seems to be rising. Granted, it's just peering over the horizon, but my "grown-up"attempts seem to be more Horatio than Bottom. Although, the sun only seems to be rising in the kitchen. My flatmate's rather thrilled at that thought - she no longer has to eat bland, burnt food. Who knows, maybe she won't have to supervise me in the kitchen anymore...

I reached the peak of my culinary excellence last night when I made chickpea and butternut curry, and puris (puris are a type of fried Indian bread). My flatmate and a friend who joined us for supper agreed that the meal was positively delicious. 

Double, double toil and trouble. Miraculously, this tasted nothing like eye of newt or toe of frog.

Technically puris are meant to be round, but I'm sure there must be a culinary version of poetic licence that I can appeal to.

For sooth, I am no Nigella Lawson. I was somewhat hesitant about mixing butter and flour together with my hands (that's the beginning of making dough - yeah I'm smart like that now), but eventually started enjoying it. It reminded me of play-dough. Alas, I had to stop short of colouring it green and making dinosaurs - I'm trying to be more Horatio than Bottom, remember? Instead of brontosauruses, I had to roll the dough out flat. This meant I needed a rolling-pin. I didn't have a rolling-pin. 

A little improvisation led to me using the cardboard tube that cling wrap is winded over. Judging by my mother's roar of laughter when I told her, I assume that this wasn't a particularly "grown-up" thing to do. I did say the sun was just peeking over the horizon.

Evidence of my creative recycling. 

I had a brief respite from my attempts at adulthood for the past two weeks as I was home for the holidays. For me, this means no laundry, no cooking and a general regression to a slothful teenage existence. Unfortunately, I'm back in the land of responsibilities and apparent Arctic weather (i.e. Grahamstown). I decided to make myself pizza for supper last night (yeah, I cook sometimes - hello thriving adult). 

So, I went off to the supermarket to buy my pizza-making ingredients. When I got back home and started unpacking I realised that I'd bought all of the toppings for my pizza, but had forgotten to buy the actual pizza. Maybe successful adulthood isn't as close as I thought and I'll have to put the last line of the previous paragraph down to youthful optimism (apparently optimism decreases with youth). Of course, I had to go back and buy pizza bases. 

As my youthful optimism decrees, I shall focus on the positives of this experience. I didn't burn anything and I did remember to buy the toppings at least. And, all of this resulted in an edible pizza!

It's not that attractive and it wasn't downright delectable, but it wasn't completely unpalatable and that's quite an achievement for me.

I'm as surprised as my mother that I made an edible dinner.

As my cooking is more comedy than cuisine, I went in search of a pre-cooked lunch on Monday afternoon.

What's a "bagget"?

This discovery provided an epiphany on adulthood. Disclaimer: I didn't actually buy this because, firstly I'm a vegetarian and secondly, I would never buy something that's spelt wrong (I'm one of those grammar snobs). I assumed that this was meant to say "baguette" and not "bagget" (unless that's a thing). That's right - adults with actual jobs and probably more adult things like mortgages and appointments can't spell. This gave me great satisfaction. I'm not the only one failing at adulthood! Heck, maybe there isn't even such a thing as a "successful" adult.

I was at home for the past two weeks and I got to do my favourite thing in the world - spend time with my dog! I am indeed a crazy dog lady. Everyone should be as enamoured with their pets as their pets are with them. This is a fact regardless of age.

I'm a bit of a pushover when it comes to my puppy. 

This wisdom-filled coaster appeared beneath my coconut hot chocolate last week and made me smile almost as much as Rani makes me smile.

As a result, I have decided to share some amazing Rani moments.

Young Rani proving that wrinkles are cute and beautiful - take that cosmetics companies!

My kryptonite - the puppy head tilt.

Sorry Hugh Jackman, this arse is definitely cuter than yours.

Watch out Serena Williams!

Rani is a feminist - she refuses to let patriarchy dictate how women should dress. Don't even think of referring to her as a "bitch".

Everyone's in agreement that bulldogs make the worst guard dogs; they're simply too friendly. Rani guards only one thing - the kitchen (she peers down from the top of the stairs to make sure that there actually is food involved before she makes her way down).

I think this is my mother's way of telling me that she misses me - she dressed Rani up in my school jersey and basher. 

And, in conclusion, a quote that anyone who's been covered in more dog hair and slobber than any actual dogs will wholeheartedly agree with:

"There is no psychiatrist in the world like a puppy licking your face." ~ Ben Williams