I don’t know what this is.

I talk about multicultural markers, defining healthy and my girlfriend saying “dang”.

I talk about “sharing” a chicken parma with a colleague, the dubious activities Mr Right engages in and counting condoms.

I talk about subconsciously mirroring my girlfriends father, toilet seats and pedophiles writing on t-shirts.

I talk about every recording session having a “warm-up” episode, having a threesome from an ad on your engaged girlfriends car and inducing labour with an orgasm.

I talk about weddings with no plus-ones, beer weather and working in a pizza shop.

I talk about homeless people on the train, introduction e-mails at work and sex work being the only profession where the worker needs to be the complete opposite to their customer.

I talk about misunderstanding STD test results, phantom bird shits and cumming over a lawnmower.

I talk about what’s been going on for the last year or so, the aftermath over the last few days and going with your gut.

I talk about starting fires with a warming drawer, shitty music being played on phones and being set up with my cousin.

I talk about hero parties, MRBTA and how many people are shitting right now.

I talk about $7.50 coffees, public holiday surcharges and my favourite tits.

I talk about trying to exercise, succeeding in exercising and taking a phone call while urinating.

I talk about betting on the grand final, my upcoming 1.5 year anniversary and a shitty ticket provider.

I talk about people pooing in public toilets, Nazi sympathy and masturbating.

I talk about holidays and public holidays here in Australia, the death of the queen and practice poops.