My partner’s love language is acts of service,whereas mine is words of affirmation. Is it possible that I’m better off here?
I have long joked that Westfield Bondi Junction is my spiritual home. I was even there on Saturday morning. Then,while I napped,the universe shifted.
The prospect of a missing princess was a blessed diversion. But now we know the truth,I feel ashamed. What was I thinking?
How can he not want a party? Is it possible that he just hates fun?
If we’re incapable of trust – if we’re compelled to track our partner’s every move – we need therapy,not spying tools.
My partner and a judgy washing machine repairman beg to differ,but I’ve been vindicated.
Now,I’m no Michael Jackson,but I do enjoy a light anaesthetic.
Carting new clothes gives me the thrill of the hunt and the pleasure of longing,without the disappointment of actually buying.
RSLs provide solid meals at reasonable prices,but that’s really only part of the appeal.
As a middle-aged woman,I am supposed to rail against invisibility. As a parent,however,I find it extremely useful.
My daughter finds it exciting to be awake at 2am. I find it exciting to be asleep at 2pm.