You've probably heard the saying that all daughters eventually become their mothers. Well, I think my transformation's begun. My flatmate and I went grocery shopping this week, and came across a bog roll bargain. Even though we have no space to store 18 rolls of loo paper (I really like books and shoes, remember), we bought them anyway. As we were calculating what a bargain we stumbled upon (it's me, so there was actual stumbling...lots of it), I said to my flatmate, "I feel like my mother".

Like many South Africans all of my mother's bulk buys come from Makro. All Makro means to me is the giant walk-in fridge. That's the only reason I ever go there. In case you didn't understand how awesome Makro is, let me say it again: YOU CAN WALK INTO A FRIDGE! My mother, however, does not just go to Makro to stand in the fridge and stare at the abundance of milkshake. She actually buys stuff, and sometimes in bulk.

So yes, I now buy in bulk. I buy shitloads of toilet paper. I can't think of anything more grown-up and bourgeois. Does this mean that I am no longer the awkward, inept almost adult? No. I think I'm at some sort of middle ground between stumbling home at 3am with strangers and discussing why Woolworths' milk is better than Spar's, but why Spar's fresh bread is better than Woolworths'. 

Here's why:

I somehow managed to (over)cook everything except the burgers. Although, I didn't burn supper for once. Also, when I removed the burgers, the oven tan lines looked like glasses.

That observation, however, sounds suspiciously like something a hipster would say. In order to combat this I must do something acceptably mainstream. I'm thinking of listening to Adele while wearing Crocs. Excuse me as I sing along to Set Fire to the Rain while attempting to not actually set fire to anything...

It's called a straightening iron for a reason!

My mother's always telling me that I can't leave the house without brushing my hair or ironing my clothes. Usually I ignore her, but now that I'm living on my own and attempting to shade in the outline of the adult that I apparently am, I find myself taking note of her advice more and more often. So, I decided to iron my extremely wrinkled shorts this morning. I thought we had an iron lying around somewhere, but I couldn't find it and my flatmate was out. Fear not, for successful adulthood may just be near - I changed my outfit! Unfortunately this outfit had a collar that needed ironing too, so I used what my momma gave me and came up with a savvy solution. I used my hair straightener. And it worked. As you can tell I was rather pleased by this, unlike my mother. The conversation went like this: 

Mum: [Gasps dramatically, like Elizabethan heroine who has just had her honour questioned] "Did you burn it?"

Me: [Smugly] "No."

Mum: "You should just buy an iron. But, do you have an ironing board?"

Me: "No, I can just use my bed."

Mum: "No! You're going to burn all your clothes!"

At this point I started laughing. But, I wasn't laughing at the thought of myself in slightly singed shorts. It's hilarious that my mother thinks I'm going to iron all my clothes.