People, in general, are becoming far too good looking and well put together for my liking these days.
I’m thinking of starting a campaign where we all just, as a race, collectively agree to lower the bar slightly and let up on this relentless pursuit of hotness. In the same way, that presumably some people at some point got together and made an agreement about putting the clocks back, only this agreement is that we all just calm the f*ck down on looking so polished and groomed all the time.
Back in the glory days of the 90s, even the celebrities looked kind of shit; now they’re more polished than the bonnet of a car. And they’re all eating clean and, for the most part, avoiding routine humiliations or 9-day marriages or rehab or any of the other fun things that we used to enjoy in our celebs. It’s getting a bit boring and what’s worse, now lay people seem to be holding themselves up to the same exacting standards.
These days walking down the street I often find myself wondering if the intensely coiffed person next to me is a minor celebrity or just another insanely done up civilian. It’s exhausting. So I am making a plea: Can we all just start letting ourselves go a bit… pleeeeeeease?
Here’re 10 signs that I’ve really let myself go (and it might be time to get a few cats)
I have woken up with a hand submerged in a tray of curry chips.
On some mornings, not only is last night’s makeup still on, but so too are last night’s tights. Sometimes taking them off just isn’t worth the effort, I’ll just be putting them back on in the morning anyhow.
The socks that I am wearing right now are socks that I fished back out of the dirty laundry basket.
I lied, I don’t even have a dirty laundry basket, I just have a creepy pile of clothes festering in the corner of my room.
I ate cold fried rice for breakfast… I also reheated old coffee from yesterday’s pot. AAAANNDDDDD I ate bin-cake – that’s right cake I’d put in the bin so that I didn’t finish the whole thing myself… obviously I grossly underestimated just how low I’m willing to sink. I retrieved and ATE that sh*t. Sidenote: There may well have been actual sh*t on it.
My leg hair has the ability to sprout THROUGH any pair of tights that I am wearing such is its unruly length and power. It looks like I’m sporting an aura of hair hovering around my legs at all times. MMMMmmm bristly…
I ate a ‘pizza sandwich’. It’s exactly like it sounds.
I have cut myself with MY OWN toenails… This is not a proud day for me.
I have succumbed and am now watching Room To Improve every week without fail.
I have woken myself up with my own snore… I accept and have made peace with the fact that I may never have sex again.
BRING ON THE CATS…
