Twinkletoes: an existential crisis

Greetings, loyal readers, and welcome back to the BLOB! I make no apologies for the past month’s reticence. I’VE BEEN BIZZY ENJOYING LIFE IN THE REAL WORLD!

Everything has come full circle since I moved here last year. Matt and I chart our year through our TV shows (lame awesome, I know). Late summer/early fall sees the return of one of our favorites: The Great British Bake Off, also known as GBBO!

GBBO is a competition for talented amateur bakers, judged by Paul Hollywood (sourpuss) and my own personal hero and adopted British Grammy, Mary Berry. Mary Berry is the epitome of class and fanciness. SHE IS MY EVERYTHING.

Anyway, in addition to my beloved Mary Berry (not to be confused with Mary Cherry from early 00’s hit WB series Popular), GBBO is a fantastic show. Mattsy and I watch it while munchin’ on sweets and soak in its hyperbolic Britishness. Just look at this flippin’ intro. The entire show is a British-themed Pinterest board wet dream.

GBBO has further fueled my love of baking, and lately I’ve been at it more than usual. Earlier this week I made a salted caramel cake (not the best, recipe was a bit bootleg), and this morning I made chocolate doughnuts! Mmmmm…doughnuts.

In other news, I’ve been prepping for an audition with the Belfast Philharmonic Choir! I went to their open rehearsal last week, and was really impressed with the group. Audition is next Tuesday, wish me luck! FALALALALALALALALALAAAA

But finally, the real reason for this post I am suffering from a severe personal dilemma. A few weeks ago, the groundskeeper at work made a comment that I simply cannot shake. As I scrounged for loose biscuits in the kitchen, he chuckled to himself.

“I’m gonna start calling yeh Twinkletoes,” he said.
“Why?” I asked, genuinely confused.
“Because you walk around like this,” he replied, bouncing up and down on his feet like a priss.

I cracked up, reassuring myself that it was just a joke. I don’t have a spring in my step! I’M ALOOF AND INTRIGUING, DARK AND MYSTERIOUS!

Jokes on jokes, but  I really didn’t believe him. It was only when I was relaying the story to Matt did I realize the bitter truth.

“Um, yeah you definitely bounce a bit when you walk,” Matt said.
I got up from the sofa to prove him wrong. I “took a turn about the room,” and to my horror, found myself basically doing a scaled-down version of this:


Oh no. OH NO! This is what I do? This is what I’m like?!ashamed
Matt tried to reassure me that “it’s nice,” but the damage has been done. I now have to try to undo decades of fruity walking, and skulk around like a normal, miserable person.

Dragging my feet,