Go on, admit it. Isn’t there something just a tad annoying about perfection? Okay, make that very annoying indeed. You know what I mean, don’t you? All those picture-perfect images of celebrities in the media, without a hair out of place. The slickly designed homes that feature in style magazines, colour-coordinated till the sofa springs squeak. Those food shows that serve up glossy, glammed-up food, on gleaming crockery, to equally gleaming people.
Well, whatever you may think about it, I have to confess that I am fed up with being fed these images of perfection day in and day out. If anything, these tableaux of perfection make me long for a world which is a bit messed up, a tiny bit ragged around the edges, or even just plain old ugly.
It’s not just the media, of course. It’s also real life. And of course, some people, who are so darned perfect that the only response to their po-faced perfection is to punch them in the face (not that I actually do that, but consider yourselves warned).
I have a sneaking suspicion that some of them are just playing the part and are secretly as flawed and imperfect as the rest of us. But true to form, they play the part so perfectly that they have the rest of us convinced – and bloody annoyed. Or is that just me?
Well, for what it is worth, here is a ready reckoner of all the things that I, in all my glorious imperfections, find very, very annoying indeed.
* Those people who decorate their houses in shades of beige, taupe, ivory, cream, or even stark white, and then manage to keep them looking pristine for years. Don’t these people have kids? Or even guests? Don’t they themselves eat dinner, drink red wine, or sneak in a quick ice-cream late at night? And if they do, how come their décor remains spill-free and immaculate? Do they secretly execute renovations in the dead of night so that the rest of us don’t know what they are up to? I think the world deserves to know the truth about this Beige Brigade.
* Perfect moms who send their kids to school with perfectly ironed uniforms, perfectly brushed hair, and with tiffins that contain only organic, free-range, thingummy jigs, with not a trace of added sugar. You know the ones I mean, don’t you? The kind of mums who treat your kid like a terrorist because he or she is packing a cupcake in his/her goody bag. And who send a long list of instructions of what their child can or cannot eat if you ever invite him or her over for a play date (even as you mutter “never again” to yourself under your breath).
From HT Brunch, August 1o
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