Pressure to be pretty exhausts me
Okay, I don’t mean to sound like a real wench here.
Truly, I don’t.
Butt…(extra ‘t’ intended), I have to say it.
While I totally adore this woman’s blog, her style, her shop, blah blah blah, whenever it comes to her “daily outfit” posts – which basically involve her posting photos of herself looking absolutely stunningly gorgeous, funkily adorned, made-up like a plush celeb and suitably blemish, hissy-fit and child-free, EVERY SINGLE DAY, I can’t help it.
I feel inadequate.
Don’t get me wrong, this seriously isn’t meant to be a judgement call on her – who the heck am I to throw stones? I’m as narcissistic as the next blogger – but I’m just calling it as I feel it.
As I see these photos with my eyes, day after day, I hear the question in my ears, day after day…how the heck does she do that?
And honestly, it’s not just envy doing the talkin. Sure, it’s getting its two cents’ worth in this conversation, but also entering into this fray is sheer unadulterated exhaustion.
All that gorgeousness makes me feel TIRED.
Cos I – who am having a good day if I remember to brush my crazy mane (I wish that was a joke) – know only too well, as I’m sure do the rest of you, how much F’ING EFFORT (oh my goodness, I nearly swore on here. By golly, I must be serious! Hoot’n’Toot!) it takes to look that good.
Heck, it takes effort just to get dressed.
I can only imagine what my daily outfit parade would comprise.
Monday – trackies and a t-shirt. With cereal on it.
Tuesday – same trackies. Possibly a different shirt. Possibly.
Wednesday – a Tiara. Made of plastic. Yes, it’s housework day.
Thursday – trackies. And on my top? Also trackies.
Friday – snot and spaghetti. What’s underneath it, we’ll probably never know.
Anything that sets the bar above that causes me great fatigue.
And a bit of envy.
But as you know, I don’t like to board the envy train if I have any kind of choice in the matter. So, today my darling peeps, I present me trying to make lemonade out of grapefruit.
Here are my daily sexy shots!
Blissfully hair, make-up and dignity free.
Is it a bird? Is it a plane? Nope. It's a bird.
You know what?
I think I feel better.
Now where the heck did I put the Tim-Tams?