It's good to be home. Tauranga once again lives up to its sunny reputation as I return to a beautiful blue sky and edible food.

The sunshine and happy days were not long lived though. As the saying goes, there's no rest for the wicked. Once over the mountain of exams, I dared to look at my bank account and realised some serious work needed to be done. I shouldn't complain about getting a job in these times but I will.
I arise at 3am, leave the house at 3.30am and start work at 4am. This lifestyle, if you can call it that, is completely foreign to me.
It was at work the other day (or morning, rather) when another staff member cracked a blonde joke. While laughing, he looked up at me, saw my hair colour, quickly changed tone and said he was just kidding and blondes are great.
I happily agreed with his correction - until yesterday morning.
3.30am: Get in Dad's car. Mine doesn't seem to work in the rain so he has tentatively loaned me his.
3.33am: Dad's car won't start. Panic starts to well up inside.
3.40am: Run to front door. Realise I have locked myself out.
3.41am: Crawl under balcony to bang on my parent's window. Consider re-evaluating our Neighbourhood Watch partners since nobody responds to a figure crawling around our house with a black coat and beanie on.
3.43am: Dad awakens. He's had better moments.
3.44am: Now grunting as Dad tells me I left the car lights on all night to drain the battery. Oops. Panic mode has increased dramatically. I'm going to be late.
3.45am: Dad stumbles to put on his shoes to drive me to work in the third and final car. Speed seems to be left somewhere in his bed. I try and start my car, hoping for a miracle.
3: 48 Miracle occurs. I drive away leaving Dad tying shoelaces, unaware of what has happened.
3.50am: Run a red light. Nobody's up at that time anyway.
3.54am: Arrive at the Mount. Without speeding, of course.

And so my blonde morning ended, leaving me to wonder whether blonde moments also happen to brunettes or if we really do live under a curse.
Let's hope by the time I'm grey I'll have grown out of it. At least being home from university means having someone (parents), to back you up and pick up the mess. It's nice not being able to think for a while. I know deep down my parents love having this blonde home. I think they're still trying to work out why.