DAY 65: Performing a cleansing ritual

I BOUGHT a bundle of sage from Newtown in a fit of Jetstar Blindness. This is when you buy destination-appropriate things that are then totally inappropriate back in your own town. Like thongs in Melbourne.

I asked Google for a few spells, but then Jessica – who knows her onions – told me not to make an actual spell, as it may come true in the most unnerving way. Like if you want to attract a bloke he might end up stalking you, or if you ask for a plane not to crash into the ground, it might crash into another plane instead – that sort of thing.

Apparently it’s okay to just cleanse the house with the sage, though. It might, at least, cleanse that mysterious ‘spare room smell’ out of the spare room before Mum and Dad come over from Pomgolia, or the Mr Thumpy smell out of the laundry. I’m a bit suss about the previous owner, actually. I found weird shit in the attic, like banished, framed pictures of a woman with an ’80s ’do; cartoons ripped from the newspaper pasted inside a cupboard; sponge effect paintjobs all over the ceilings; and seemingly endless collections of bean bag beans. Put them all together, and what have you got? Exactly. Well dodgy, huh? Let’s cleanse.

Sage tea helps me keep my temper at special times of month, but bizarrely, burning sage smells completely different – like pot, as it turns out – so I’m going to have some explaining to do to my parents, and I was hoping we’d finally got past all that.

Keeper? Only if someone creates an awful stench that needs to be got rid of.