Earlier this week Jono and I had our regular “no-possum-you-cant-get-a-puppy” fight. It’s not really a fight, more calm and familiar with Jono playing the antidote to my extremely impractical need for puppy love*.

It goes like this:

K: I want a puppy

J: You can’t get a puppy

K: but I WANT a puppy, so cute, smells like puppy-breath…

J: We both work long hours, a puppy will be lonely

K: Great, we’ll get two and they can keep each other company… there’ll be two puppies… they’ll both be 90% puppy tummy … we’ll love each other so much …

J (interrupting the above monologue): Our garden is too small for two dogs.

K: but…

J: It wouldn’t be fair on the puppy

K: sigh… I know… puppy (said whistfully, like a goodbye)…

We resolved the matter, but it stayed at the back of my mind, and in true Possum fashion, I found the best, most practical solution: we’ll move. Genius! I know what you’re thinking, but strangely MENSA wont return my calls?!

I starting looking at property online, guided largely by the size of the gardens apparent in the photos, rather than whether or not we could afford the place or if it would add 40 min on to each of our commutes. Before long, I was googling property for sale in JHB and found myself diligently entering my details into a online bond calculator with my heart set on a pressed ceilings, 3 bed in Orange Grove.

Let me stop right there. I am not actually about to buy a house, but what is scary is that (tight budgets aside), I could. Me. Anyone woken up one day, in your x^th serious job, bogged down by bills, pencilling another friend’s wedding into your calendar, and realised “Good God! I’m a grown up!”? Just me then?! Sigh!

And here’s another important question, could I live with the aqua-blue bath suite for the sake of pressed ceilings? Just kidding! Mostly…

*Don’t even start with your “broody” comments, I want a small fluffy thing that sh*ts in the garden and is largely independent in six months. This is somewhat different to a child, or so I believe.