Sometime in November last year, I had an epiphany of monumentally ageist proportions: I’m going to be 30 really, really soon– like: HOW? WHEN? REALLY?
And, partly because I’ve always wanted to, but more urgently because I felt like “Now is zee time, baby!”, I snuggled up to the Goethe Institute’s website and booked myself in for a four week German Learning course in Freiburg.
It’s the lazy lassie’s version of “studying abroad”. After finishing uni, hell, no siree, a Masters was never going to be my answer to furthering my education. But learning a language is a gentler, less hardcore way of getting the juices in the old noggin fired up again.
Helen, my dearest Helen, made me a wonderful package to assist my cause. I fly out on Friday, and her hamper will ensure that:
- I will brush my hair everyday and have a perfect three-quarter part every other day, thanks to her foldable dual-ended brush/comb contraption;
- my teapot will stay cosy in the evenings, thanks to her beautiful, embroided tea cosy;
- I will have fresh breath on the plane, and whoever’s sitting next to me will just need to hang onto my every riveting word, thanks to the breath freshener she rustled up;
- I will write thoughtful, pensive musings in the Black Forest on my grassy, grassy knoll, thanks to the red, leather notebook she thoughtfully found for me;
- I will learn something on the plane and sleep like a baby as well, thanks to the high-drama novel she sourced (note: “Berlin” being mentioned in the title- Helen always gets it on point), and the super fierce ear plugs she included.
I am so well equipped, I kinda don’t know what to do with myself. Well actually, I do.
In celebration of being the most prepared with all the creature comforts I could ever need, I positioned the two earplugs in line with the cover-man’s nostrils and rolled around laughing. Hey, no one ever said that turning 30 meant that you actually had to act 30, ay? Ay???