In the light of my last post about my clear ineptitude at DIY and my fear of electricity and my inability to make good decisions on matters involving colours, measurements and maths, thought I’d cheer ma’self up and write a post about things I can do well.
I can do lots of things: I can write a 120cm feature article in an hour and a half. I can memorise swathes of poetry. I make excellent potato salad and about six other things that make people think I’m a good cook. I can knit and sew with average results. I’m an excellent swimmer and believe I would make it to land before you if we were shipwrecked.
My grammar is excellent and I know the proper use of Em dashes and brackets. I read voraciously and my book collection is worth more than anything else I own. I’m great at swearing and drinking. I can dance the cha-cha, the rumba and the jive. I have an aptitude for languages and can converse, count, insult, praise and thank people in eight of them, but properly in three.
I’ve never lost any points on my driver’s license, EVER, I’ve never – to my knowledge -appeared on Crimestoppers and I’ve never been arrested. Although there was that one time that cop caught us buying vodka underage from the local pub…
I’m great at ironing and furthermore, I like it. I buy only nice underwear. I like miniature things – wait, that’s not a talent – hang on…I have perfect table manners and know how to use a fish fork and can recognise one at 100 paces. I’ve got quite a good bull-shit-o-meter and my first instincts about a person are almost 100% correct, even though I think they are wrong and swing back and fro until I come back to my original conclusion and want to punch myself in the face.
I’m a great hostess but I regularly provide entertainment at other people’s parties by either dancing, singing or doing the impressive headstand I just learned at yoga, or sometimes being perfectly amiable and delightful company.
Back in the day I could play the piano, flute and sang in local competitions, coming at least not last. I do a rousing rendition of ‘Oh Flower of Scotland’. I can roll my tongue, wiggle my ears and I know most of the rules-ish to Rugby Union. I am proficient at most sports, including golf, and have reasonable hand-eye co-ordination. Old men love me because I charm them with my chat.
I know Leonard Cohen and The Rolling Stones’ back catalogue almost off by heart and I reckon my taste in music is better than yours. I’m not ashamed to be wrong but most of the time I reckon I’m right. I take criticism badly but only because usually its full of shit.
I’m very flexible for someone who does precious little exercise and I like cute furry animals. I can imitate, with reasonable accuracy, heaps of accents, including, but not limited to, South African, American, Welsh, Northern Irish, Irish, Invernesian, Aberdonian, Yorkshire, Australian, Cornwall, London etc…
DO YOU SEE WHAT I AM DOING THERE WITH MY COMMAS? THEY MUST COME IN PAIRS UNLESS THEY ARE PART OF A LIST.
Sorry for the shouty capitals. That was a bit unnecessary.
I’m tired now and I’ve bigged myself up enough. But I encourage you, yes, you, to write a list of your own. Because – and although I was always told NEVER to start a sentence with ‘because’: lie – sometimes you need to remind yourself what you are ace at so that what you are shit at doesn’t bring you down.
So, I can’t grow plants, can’t train my cat and cannot, for the goddamn life of me, get my head around DIY, changing a car tyre or electricity. I’m quite scared of fire and flames and I make terrible impulsive decisions, especially with clothes but I can do all the stuff above. For realsies.
Whatchu good at biatches?