As if Hannah Horvath couldn't get any more relatable, she came up with this beaut of a one-liner (in response to Marnie's particularly mature order to "grow up"):

"Excuse me, I am grown up. That's why I cooked all this food!"

Preach.

Source

Clearly then, I'm a grown-up too (well more in the way that Hannah is I guess, except minus the weird, possibly sociopathic, ex-boyfriend, e-book deal and kick-ass tattoos). Yeah, I'm a bit jealous that she has those things (excluding the strange ex-boyfriend of course). 

Why yes, I did make this vegan cottage pie all by myself (didn't even have to phone my mum for help). 

Basically, I made this. It looked amazing. It tasted pretty good too. Ergo, I am an adult. Thank you Hannah Horvath for that epiphany.

Blood was spilled in our kitchen last night. Surprisingly, the incident did not involve peeling or chopping vegetables. Unsurprisingly, it involved me.

Calm down, it wasn't that kind of blood-related incident.    Source:http://www.killerfilm.com/articles/read/scream-4s-mask-maker-spilling-beans-about-movie-37542 

I did not open the door for a strange person in a mask. Nor did I investigate the strange sounds outside, which only exaggerated the eerie atmosphere created by the constant rain. Also, my flatmate and I were not having a pillow fight in our underwear before said blood was spilled.

The blood-spilling was actually rather uninteresting and meagre (sorry Tarentino fans). While getting the scissors out of the drawer in order to open up a packet of sun-dried tomatoes, I slammed my finger in the drawer. A good chunk of skin peeled off my finger. There was a bit of blood. See, not that eventful.

In stereotypical youthful optimism I'd like to point out that, while my finger is pretty gross-looking at the moment, I did end up with some amazing pasta.

Those red-bits are sun-dried tomotoes - not blood.

 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.