While I was driving the other day, deep in my own head, I suddenly said out loud,
“Sometimes I wonder if I can see? Like, am I seeing what everyone else is seeing?”
Unfortunately, I was halfway down an A-road… with my kids in the back.
Their eyes said it all: What the fuck? I hope you can fucking see.
But — it guaranteed two things:
- Absolutely no bickering — they knew teamwork was their best shot at survival.
- Full control of the music — Kisstory, obviously.
I think they thought I’d finally lost it. That they might end up collateral damage.
But I genuinely wonder sometimes.
Is the colour orange I see the same as everyone else sees?
Can I trust what I’m looking at?
Take when I get ready to go out.
In the mirror, I think I look fabulous.
Then I see the photos… and think: Is that what I actually look like?
I always thought I had a smiley face.
But in every candid picture, I look like I’ve just smelled shit.
Or like I’ve died. Proper dead.
Especially the eyes — no life behind them.
It’s like I fire up just enough energy for one half-decent photo, then immediately power down.
Face blank. No Wi-Fi. Aeroplane mode ON.
The worst photos? Always from kids’ birthdays.
There I am, in the background, scowling like I’m plotting to murder someone’s child.
And because every parent shares every picture… there I am again. And again.
No wonder I’m not in with the cool mums.
They’re always fucking smiling and being helpful.
They move like a train, chanting their mantra:
Kind and smile, kind and smile — choo choo.
They look effortlessly breezy in every photo.
I look like I’m mentally preparing not to get made someone’s bitch in prison.
And lucky for me — that’s my resting face.
Perfect for prison.
Terrible for children’s parties.
And general life.
But hey — prepare for the job you want, not the job you have.
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