04 Feb 2011 1 Comment
You didn’t faint with amazement at the sight of my new haircut.
I am looking at you shop assistant with whom I have casual greeting acquaintance and with whom I exchange pleasantries. I look amazing. You should have said so. Next week I buy my bagel from someone else.
I did a whole 25 minutes on the step machine this morning, someone should have taken one look at me and gone, “I wish I was her.” Nobody did. That is why I am upset.
Elle, Marie Claire, Cosmo – not one editor strolled past me in my hurly burly urban life and asked me to be on the cover of their magazine because (and I quote), “You look fantastic for your age and no, it doesn’t matter that you don’t wear make-up.”
An agent hasn’t read my blog and offered me a book deal.
I discovered a new facial hair. One lonely bugger of a follicle sprouting quietly From A Mole. Like a bloody witch. Husband, yes, you, Husband, why didn’t you tell me? No sex for a month. You upset me with your failure to ensure that I don’t look like someone about hijack a broom.
Most of you are thinner than me. I understand that you don’t understand the art of eating cake but it isn’t that hard. Thin people let my cuddly self down. If we all ate cake then there would be no size zero to compare us to. It upsets me that none of you are noble enough to take responsibility for yourselves.
That is all.
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