Tuesday, 28 July 2015

Waitrose eggs and my green grass...

I often wonder why Waitrose is one of my happy places - or any posh supermarket for that matter.

I had to pop to there today as I needed to grab a few things for dinner and it was much more appealing that doing my weekly food shop in Lidl where myself and my purse actually belong. I'd rather walk around Waitrose with a basket of milk and reduced items and pretend I belong.

I was stood in the aisle and as I went to grab a pack of six large eggs, I saw that they also do 'Extra Large' eggs. The level of excitement was worrying. I am twenty three years old and Extra Large Eggs excite me.

I walked out of Waitrose with a free coffee (My Waitrose card holders only I'm afraid) and a bag of items that will last me one meal costing £16.90 but I was a hell of a lot happier than when I walked in.

I've always been the type of person to wonder what life's like on the other side, and how it could always 'be better' until about a year ago. My life did a 360, I lost a lot of weight and started to invest time in myself rather than thinking what it's be like to be somebody else thinner with a chest that resembles a woman rather than soggy ice cream cones. I then made a conscious effort to stop wondering what other peoples grass looked like and start concentrating on my own. The thing is, it really doesn't take a lot to make me happy. Yes Waitrose makes me happy and Waitrose costs money, but in the grand scheme of things Waitrose is a lot cheaper than a pair of Jimmy Choo shoes which is what most people my age should be excited about. I've spent so much time wondering if I'm 'normal' for not wanting to do huge things with my life. I used to. I used to want to be a performer on the west end stage with a flat stomach and a husband that resembled everything Jude Law does. But believe it or not I actually quickly realised that even I couldn't bring enough drama to the real stage.

My three best friends could not be more opposite to me. One has just finished her masters in something I couldn't even write without texting her to ask how to spell it. Another lives in New Zealand working at an interior design company with big plans to move back to the UK and do the same. And the other has just landed herself a job with ELLE magazine in London...and I get excited about eggs.

But is that OK? Is it OK that for now I'm happy just going on expensive holidays I can't afford and writing a blog because it's cheaper than a therapist? I often wonder if there's something wrong with me and why I don't have any major dreams to become a famous make-up artist in New York City with an apartment like Julia Roberts and a beauty range that sells to millions.

Instead I dream of visiting New York and staying in an apartment like in Pretty Woman and being able to buy beautiful things. However I then want to be able to come back to my home and make the baddest omelettes with my extra large eggs. I'm starting to think that maybe there isn't anything wrong with that and whilst I'm super proud of my friends chasing their dreams it doesn't matter that mine aren't the same size.

Here's to loving the grass we all live on and enjoying our eggs the way we like them.


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