A Letter to the Influencer Who Thinks I Can Do Pilates at 1pm

Photo by Patrick Malleret on Unsplash

 

Hi babybotoxlifter,

I hope this letter finds you in the midst of a groundbreaking, spirit-awakening culinary creation involving oats. Just thought I’d take some time out of my day to write to you; I’m exhausted after spending nine hours in front of a computer screen, so apologies if you see any typos.

First, let me start by expressing my deepest admiration for your morning routine, your ability to redefine breakfast entirely. The way you do it is so *chefs kiss*; from the freshest ingredients straight from Waitrose, to the way you ethereally put the dish together. I would never have thought it could improve my mental health to slow right down and take the time to procure a healthy, nutritious bowl; your invention of turmeric oats with lashings of agave syrup, hemp seeds and dragon fruit seems nothing short of a masterpiece that makes for a transcendental experience. And well done for discovering cinnamon sprinkled over apples – ground-breaking! I don’t believe anybody has thought of anything so innovative before, so thank you for showing us all about it in your perfectly posed selfie video.

Unfortunately, as I peel my eyelids apart and stumble out of bed at 5:30am, my morning is less magical. Most days I can only muster a  quick, sad, film-topped coffee before I jolt out of the door to catch a train that smells of sweaty gym socks. Sometimes I manage buttered toast, if I’m feeling fancy.

I also applaud your commitment to dragging yourself away from the comfort of your post-breakfast reading time in your perfectly made cream bed to then reposition your camera in your pilates studio. Your very own pilates studio! I wish I didn’t have to share a gym with sweaty men who grunt during every rep. When the clock strikes 1pm, I am not donned in a cute, matching gym set. Instead, I find myself sat at a hot desk (that I had to book three weeks ago to secure, mind you!) convincing myself this £5 prawn cocktail sandwich from M&S was worth sacrificing a flat white from Caffe Nero for the office beans. In this moment, I am not gracefully extending opposing legs and arms and letting go of all negative thoughts. Instead, I find myself thinking this could have been an email. I could have been spared the torture of being trapped in a conversation about your children if you had just emailed me but saying ‘oh, I can’t believe it’s Monday again already! Honestly, where does the time go.’

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Letters to Santa

 

Photo by Jakob Owens on Unsplash

Dear Santa,

I’ve been a rather good boy this year, I think.

Last week I asked for cake before I had eaten all my food, and, of course, Mummy let me have it. I did have a bit of a meltdown but mummy reassured me I was still a good boy. I screamed and screamed the house down all while aunty Jay and uncle Eddie sat awkwardly in silence, not daring to encroach. Mummy kept saying things to me, though I wasn’t really listening, or rather couldn’t hear her over the sound of my own noise.

You’re just upset, Jimmy, it’s okay. Let it all out. Hush, darling, it’ll be okay. Mummy doesn’t want to give you cake now because you’ll get a tummy ache as you haven’t touched your quinoa yet! Be a good little boy, my prince, and eat some salmon. Then I’ll give you dessert. Just eat half of it. Oh no, Jimmy, we don’t say that word! Okay, a bite. Fine, will you promise to eat it tomorrow, darling? Mummy will be very upset if you don’t. Please don’t hit mummy, that’s not very nice! We don’t hit! Oh, again! Stop hitting mummy, darling. Here, have your dessert because I know you’re very upset right now and you’re going through so many emotions.

Then mummy gave me the cake.

Daddy sat in the corner not doing anything, of course, until he saw mummy ferociously dividing the cake between me and her so that there was only a sliver left for him. By that point I was really cross as my face was hot and swollen, and I couldn’t enjoy the dessert so daddy wolfed it all down. Mummy started shaking a little bit after that but didn’t say anything. She just went into the kitchen and I heard a loud crash! bang! Daddy was hoovering up the crumbs from his plate with his mouth, like a fish, and didn’t go to mummy, so I think it was okay.

Anyway, this year I want an iPad. I’m growing up fast and daddy’s phone screen is just too small for my fingers. All my older cousins have one already; Gemma got one just because she started university and she always says no when I ask to use it. I asked nicely, so that means I should really be allowed. Mummy said so.

From,

Jimmy (8)

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