Groundhog Day

I don’t really know what to talk about, perhaps if I type for long enough some eureka moment might strike me much like the sudden urge to pee just as you’re in early morning traffic. I feel like everyday is Groundhog day in my life currently, yes – new month new me pessimistic perspective about something petty. But that’s why you’re reading this right, so we can wallow in self-pity together…..

Hm.. perhaps I’d better change my train of thought……

My brother’s wedding is coming up this Summer and am I a bridesmaid? NOPE :(, and no it’s not because I’m his estranged sibling, it’s because of his control……….oh this is negative too.

I’m planning to work on my fitness again, I’ve been feeling rather out of breath lately carrying bottles of lemonade and crisps from the car to the house. It must be a sign from God that I’m a lazy b*tch. With the all too apparent realisation that I have my assessment coming up in May to become a dance fitness teacher the irony is too much! I seriously do have my practical assessment, and I seriously do have to workouttt!

My friend is also getting married in Summer (not to my brother thankfully, she’s my friend not his!), although she hasn’t been proposed to yet nor is she planning on doing the proposing so looks like I’ll be spending £500 on a trip to London to see Big Ben again and not free food, blistered feet and awkward conversation.(hehe).

So it’s lovely to hear that everyone’s getting married except me. Marriage isn’t everything right, but I guess it helps financially when they’re rich, you divorce, and you know that they haven’t signed a prenup (a saying I hold dear to my hear and chant three times while frothing at the mouth from toothpaste before slamming my head on my lumpy pillow and struggle to fall asleep for two hours. Thanks to endlessly scrolling instagram seething at the superficial lives of the rich and famous which I’ll never seem to have. Consequently I find myself for the last 10 minutes of my insomnia episode browsing the sugar daddy websites only to find them with an unreachable criteria that even money can’t seem to buy – being under 18 and thinner than a stick insect. It’s safe to say I won’t be needing to pucker up for a wet kiss from a frail financier who purposely took his dentures out for the giggles of it all).

So with that being said, I’m proud to be poor, setting back the chocolates at the counter just so I can afford to wipe my a*rse with the double ply roll and not the risky single, is really a blessing in disguise. Sure the cashier gives me evils but nobody wants a chocolate smear where the sun don’t shine let’s be honest about it, so back the tastier type of chocolate goes to the sweets aisle. Being poor also means I make choices on what to buy in the supermarket not based on flavour but on weight of product per penny of money. Like a bloody dealer I’m buying the product that is 2p cheaper so long as it guarantees me but a milligram more product! Sad, I know, blame my mum she was forever doing this throughout my childhood. ‘No Natasha, set that back you’ve got sweets at home.’ *Goes homes, opens drawer – a packet of dry sandy husks awaits, stale from atleast a month ago. ‘No Natasha, set that back get the value pack of bread.’ *Looks at label and weight – an extra kilo worth of salt, sugar and preservatives can be found in this white, mass-manufactured bread loaf, enjoy bouncing off the walls from the sugar rush. I’m not knocking any parent or person in general who does these sorts of things, I do them myself, when money is tight it’s no joke. But I think sometimes the best form of coping mechanism for when times are tough is humour, and especially at my Mum’s expense (no pun intended hehe) for she has endless stories of saving the pennies that all of us in her family tease her about. It’s fun to bond over laughing at other family member’s at the dinner table, no? Which most of the time it’s me if you must know!

Anyhow, I just thought I’d take a moment to complain, and appreciate the fact that my Mum sacrificed my childhood joy of milk chocolate so we’d have 2-ply toilet paper. Love you Mum and your oh so hygienic ways. xox