I see no problem with this breakfast.

I see no problem with this breakfast.

Your clothes fit you

This is nothing to do with losing weight or being a particular size. It is all about sucking it the fuck up – muffin top, bingo wings and all – and buying clothes in a size that fits. I spent years wearing clothes a size too small in the hope that technically being a 12 (or 14, or 16) would make me feel better. It doesn’t. All it does is make you constantly aware that your belly is hanging over your waistband and you appear to have four breasts.

Buy the next size up. Cut the size labels out, if it makes you feel better. I always cut labels out anyway, because labels showing through clothes looks stupid. The only time I’ve had a problem with this is when buying from certain supermarkets who save on manufacturing costs by screen-printing the size onto the fabric itself. Those supermarkets are dickheads.

 

You can change the wheel on a car

But you’ve never had to, because you have your own, paid-for breakdown service and that is what the RAC was put on this planet to do. I can absolutely change a spare tyre, but I’ve managed to avoid doing so since somewhere around 1992.

 

Saturday night can be spent reading a book in bed without feeling that you’re missing out on something, somewhere

Bonus points for having cookies in that bed with you. Doesn’t matter if you share the bed with kids / cats / significant other – lounging in PJs whilst reading and eating is up there on the list of Greatest Things To Do With Your Weekend.

 

Your foundation is the right colour for your skin

A confession here – up until six months ago I was convinced that my skin tone was the palest shade of alabaster known to mankind. And then I discovered the colour matching service offered by Boots – turns out that I should have actually been using foundation four grades darker than I thought, and that I’d spent most of the past thirty years looking like a refugee from a Bauhaus gig. You live and learn.

 

You can talk about sex without blushing

This is a subject very close to my heart – I truly believe that every adult woman is entitled to the sex life of their choosing, whether it be vanilla, super-kinky, solo or even non-existent. Learning to talk about it Out Loud – whether that be with an intimate partner or just over a cuppa with friends – goes one hell of a long way towards achieving that goal. Plus it’s awesome listening to other people’s smutty tales whilst thinking happily to oneself ‘ooooohhh thank the baby jeebus, some people are even weirder than me!

 

You have made peace with the realisation that not everybody likes you

Let’s face it – you don’t like every single person you know. And with good reason – some of them are utter bell-ends that you only tolerate because to do otherwise would cause no end of social stink. So why should anyone else be different? Some people will love the very bones of you, others will think you are a complete jizzferret who needs a good slap.  The sooner you accept this the sooner you can get on with being awesome, instead of wasting time courting approval from people who aren’t worth the effort.

 

…and sometimes, the people that you really don’t like includes your loved ones

Show me the woman who adores her kids every second of every day throughout their lives and I’ll show you a Valium’d psychopath who is one step away from a padded cell. I’m not talking about ‘love’ – of course you love the little scrotes to the end of the earth, because they are your little scrotes. My kids are the centre of my universe, my reason for living, my be all and end all. And sometimes I really, really dislike them with a venomous passion known only to those who have witnessed the fruit of their loins screeching hysterically to the point of vomiting, purely because they were asked to bring their dirty laundry downstairs.

 

You have learnt the value of a proper breakfast

Sometimes that breakfast is hot chocolate and a family slab of fruit’n’nut – hell, sometimes my breakfast consists of nothing more than three espressos and a double dose of Nurofen. But you are an ADULT, goddammit, and you can eat what the hell you like at whatever time you like, so long as you accept the consequences. Personally I can put up with a tight waistband if it’s been put there by waffles.

 

Fashion is interesting (in principle)

I love fashion – as a concept. It’s brilliant, so long as it is happening to other people.  I’m a sucker for a fashion mag, even if it’s only to  look pityingly at sparrow-ladies shivering in tiny clothes for the benefit of photographers that take sadistic pleasure in making them look as stupid as possible.

Having worn pretty much nothing but black with the occasional dollop of fake fur for at least the past decade, I have discovered that my wardrobe comes into fashion approximately every three years. A thirty percent success rate is better than I achieved when I was actually trying to be fashionable.

Stop following fashion ‘rules’, and start wearing what makes you happy. And if anyone compliments you on your outfit, do NOT reply ‘Ohhh, this old thing? Bought it for three quid from Primark five years ago.’ The only acceptable response is ‘Thank you.’ They’ll be pleased they made you smile and you’ll be relieved that they didn’t realise it was just the nearest thing on the floor when you got up that morning.

 

MOST IMPORTANTLY: ignore people who tell you that you need to ‘grow up’. Those people are liars.

 

 

Violet x

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