Last Sunday I was getting changed for my 8am Pilates class when it dawned on me that it was 8am and I was at the gym. On a Sunday.
It hadn’t struck me as odd as I packed my gym bag – having gone to bed at a reasonable hour after a wild Saturday night of binge-watching Game of Thrones, having sex and drinking cups of tea through Twix bars, (which, by the way, is a fucking revelation for my tea-drinking-biscuit-eating habits) 8am hadn’t seemed like the crack of fucking dawn. It wasn’t until I looked around me in the gym changies; taking in the bright eyed and bushy tailed sports mums’ in their fluorescent lycra and tinted moisturiser, that I realised I might actually be becoming exactly what I’ve always hated; someone who is slowly starting to get their shit together.
Don’t get me wrong, I’ve been exceedingly dull like this before – but that was more because of money restrictions rather than the fact that these days, if truth be told, I actually really enjoy going to the gym, having nights in with my fella, and talking about shit like smoothie recipes, kale and ‘this great book I’ve been reading’.
It was quite a shocking realisation, actually. Gone are the days of regularly getting the first train home, demented, after a 7 hour dance-a-thon in Liverpool’s gay scene. My Saturday nights no longer feel incomplete if they don’t involve at least one of my friends a) getting into a bar-brawl with a drag queen, b) downing eight shots in the infamous tequila bar, falling down the stairs and clubnecking a wrongun c) borrowing a strangers’ National Insurance card to line up whatever amphetamines they managed to blag off ‘Gary in the black Ford Focus’ d) all of the above.
I’ve become simultaneously smug and everything I hate.
So, in my new role as Gwyneth Paltrow, I’ve decided to embrace the fact that I’m now wise as FUCK by sharing some uncomfortable truths that we know all too well, but I feel like it can’t hurt to drum them home.
Feel free to nod along, girls. Fuck it, feel free to Z-snap if the mood should take you. I know I sure as hell am.
- Not every girl wants to shag your fella, ladies. Calm down. The sad fact of the matter is, before you took a shine to him/took pity on him, he probably hardly ever managed to get laid at all.
- While we’re on the subject; stop being so paranoid about your fella going out with the lads. If truth be told, you’re fella is more than likely utterly shit at chatting up birds anyway. In fact, you can probably vouch for this based on your own personal experience. Even if he was the type to try and pull himself a side bird, (and if you’re worried he might be, it might be time to ask yourself why you’re letting the cheeky bastard stick around) he’ll likely be too drunk to approach women with any sort of finesse. It’s just a night out, chill out about it.
- People who genuinely don’t give a fuck never feel the need to announce it, or post 300 related quotes on Instagram.
- Same goes for people who are genuinely over their exes.
- Thongs don’t look good on anyone.
- If someone wants to be with you, they’ll be with you. Regardless of the timing, their work commitments, where they live, or whatever other drama’s they’re using as an excuse not to see you. If they’re not making the effort, they’re not arsed. Swerve and move on.
- Never – and I can’t stress this one enough – never mix Prosecco and Baileys.
- Dress for your size. There’s a fine line between a fitted dress and a sausage casing. Stop worrying about what the label says; if the 10 is too tight just buy the 12. Don’t cut off your blood circulation out of pride.
- Don’t stay in a bad relationship because you’re scared of being alone. Feeling a bit lonely because you’re single is much better than feeling alone whilst in a relationship.
- Some people are just dicks. Don’t let them get to you.
- Listen to your mum. She’s probably right.
Until next time… x