How to convince my cousin I shouldn't be replaced by an amoeba

So I’m self-employed. I suppose it’s a fancy way of saying that I’m sort-of unemployed. Thing is, as a dancer, I move from gig to gig planning as I go, it’s not a normal nine to five. I do lots of work but, unlike other people, I still have time for other things…like swimming and falling in love, eating crisps while reading a book and sitting on my ass doing fuck-all for hours at a time. I also obviously have time to sit for several hours a week writing utter nonsense and churning out rabid illustrations on MS paint and then claiming that it’s a ‘blog’. Thing is, most of my work happens in the evening, so my days seem to be these halcyon times of bliss and leisure that stretch into eternity (even though they so do not!).

So my parents decide that although my ironing and dishwasher-emptying skills have improved, they are still not good enough (granted, taking 3 days to iron a shirt may be construed by some as ‘too long’ but I’m getting better! Ok but now I have to admit that this was a blatant exaggeration on my part…it only took two days) and that we need some help. Cue the entrance of my cousin, who is older than me and possibly has a child. Cue also, the most awkward situation ever.

It’s kind of like being under house arrest…but worse. On the first day she arrived I’d had an extremely busy weekend, the company had had three gigs and we'd been shooting an advert (which Flavian and I choreographed) until midnight the previous evening so I slept late. Boy was that a mistake. I stumbled into the TV room half dressed with my hair all stuck up on one side of my head and make-up smeared across half my face. She didn’t even recognise me and my rasped ‘g’morning’ went unanswered…it was probably because she was too busy looking at me like this:

So then I try to sit in front of the telly to watch something while I continue to slowly wake up from my zombified state. But then I feel this burning in the back of my head. I was so sure that she was judging me like a judgy McJudgster! I could feel her judgement creep across the floor, up the couch and then settle over my head like some hideous judgemental hat-monster. She was ironing and I was just sitting like a lump watching the telly! Oh the shame!

Ok…I think to myself…I need to get out of this hideous situation, so I decide to go and do some work on the computer. I get up and shuffle over to the office giving her an apologetic smile as I pass. I sit down and open my emails, then I check my Facebook. Our office is open plan so I manage to convince myself that she is staring at the computer screen judging me for being on Facebook while she has to do the ironing. Can I get no peace! So I bang out a couple of invoices and some minutes from a meeting to lead her into thinking that I was doing something useful. Ha ha! I laugh to myself in triumph, now I can go on Facebook without feelings of debilitating guilt! But alas my plan was always doomed to fail…I still felt completely rabid with uncomfortable…um…ness.. I went to empty the dishwasher and then I slunk back to my room like the useless lump I am. ‘I’ve worked really hard this weekend and I work lots in the evenings’ I felt like saying to her, but then she would’ve given me this look again:

...and I just couldn’t handle it.

So now I have embarked on a sort of guerilla warfare where I use subterfuge and diversionary tactics to try and convince my cousin that I have a purpose in life and that I should not be replaced by an amoeba.

1. Every morning I set my alarm for a semi-decent hour (like 9) I wake up, walk around a bit, say good morning to everyone and then go back to bed. With this tactic I may lead her into thinking that I’m doing big important things in my room.

2. When I finally get out of bed properly I walk around the house on my cellphone trying to sound busy and important. This tactic worked great until the phone rang during a fake conversation. (Ok, that last part was a total lie, but wouldn’t it be funny if that did happen??)

W When I do leave the house I shout very loudly to my dad that I’m going to a meeting and does he want me to buy him some newspapers on my way home. I say this even when I’m leaving to have a drink with a friend…or to buy bread.

At the end of the day I could easily have chosen to do what some people perceive as a ‘real’ job, like being an accountant or a human resources manager but do you know what; I get to live my dream every single day and dance. How many people get to do that? If only she could see what I do every day (especially when she’s not there). If she really knew why I do what I do and why I love it so much…I think she’d be ok about keeping me and not replacing me with an amoeba. But until that day guerilla warfare and subterfuge are my only weapons against judgement. The war continues…