Having the talk
Yes, you were cross. Outraged. You were lit from within by the fire of righteous indignation. So you decided to have the talk. And now you’re terrified. Can’t everyone just pretend that nothing ever happened and then you can organically drift apart?
Yes, you carp about going out. Yes, sometimes you have fun. Yes, you like people (don’t you? Occasionally). But the act of going out. The getting dressed, the putting on make-up, the meeting new people, the staying up late. *has panic nap*
You are always wearing tights for smear tests. Or dressed in such a way that by the time you get into the stirrups you are basically naked, because we’d forgotten. You’d blocked it out. She tells you to drop your thighs apart which used to be much easier, didn’t it? How come your leg muscles are so tight? Then the cold thing. And the pinch.
Listening to women saying they are ‘not sure’ whether or not they are a feminist
What is it that you are not sure about? Being on your own side? Stop it.
Accidentally swiping right on Instagram…
And you find yourself looking at your unvarnished, unposed, unfiltered-to-fuck self. THE HORROR
And accountancy stuff and passport stuff and insurance stuff and forms, forms, forms, death by forms.
Wearing clothes in the house
Maybe you have a wardrobe that fits you beautifully all day and never gets too tight by 3pm, or scratchy or is so “dry-cleaning only” that if it even looks at food it costs you £14,000. Maybe. Or maybe you just hate wearing your day clothes in the house and prefer to shed that outside layer, and put on the most disgusting/baggy/holey things you can find.
They build up and they build up and you have seven thousand unread emails and oof. But can you be arsed to get rid of them? Do you dare? And, if you get rid of them…what then?
Stupid work meetings
You love a work meeting. You are on fire for work meetings that are about ideas and getting shit done. But the stupid ones. The ones that boil down to which envelopes you should order or whether the company ‘and’ should become an &? *screams internally and possibly externally*
Looking for a dress for a thing
You have a thing. It could be a work thing, a party thing or even a sex thing. And you want something new. Not new direction. Just new. So you feel fresh. And every place you look conspires to making you feel stale and irrelevant. As well as poor. And fat. And tired. And depressed. And uninstagrammable.
That is why a ‘save the date’ is so traumatic. How do you know how you’ll feel then? Will you be able to afford it in terms of time, energy and money. You’d rather just be left permanently alone. Except why does your phone never ring?