How about today, I just post a photo of my ass on the settee doing bugger all?
I’m a cricket widow today while the other half continues his boyhood hobby and aspires to be the next Alistair Cook. I’ve spent the morning with my two year old godson. We’ve been bonding – putting the body parts onto Mr Potato Head and pushing round Postman Pat’s van. I’m always amused by his view of the world and marvel at his little, growing personality. He shouts “Come on!”to hurry me up. Ordinary Lad and I had a catch up with friends this morning and the godson has had a play date with their children in the garden. After his Mummy collected him (in one piece – yes, it was a successful babysit!), I then had some free time.
It’s now Saturday afternoon. It’s pleasant and dry outside, although there’s a cold chill here in Sheffield. I have a few choices for my time off from the working week: I could catch up and gossip with my friend, I could support my man and pretend that I am au fait with the cricket rules (I should be – he’s played for the last 8 years that I’ve know him). I could read a book because I often repeat that I never have any time to sit down with a magazine, let alone a novel. I should really do the food shopping but I could wait to go with Ordinary Lad tomorrow. I could do some work; there’s a stack of it in the corner. I might even clean the house – who am I kidding?
I decide to do none of the above. It’s quite the revelation.
Truth is, I don’t want to do anything. I don’t want to do owt. I want to do nowt.
I’m reminded of the Bruno Mars song about being lazy “Today I don’t feel like doing anything / I just wanna lay in my bed”.
As modern women, we’re programmed to maximise every minute of every day: at work, meeting friends, time with our partners. But because I’m not maximising every minute of today, I feel bad. Should I be out saving the world, bleaching the toilet, working out? Should I be doing other stereotypical things people think women do with their free time?
We live in a world where we have to justify how we spend our time and how worthy we are. We post pictures to prove how kind, lucky and hardworking we all are. We want people to be jealous of our achievements and life experiences. How about today, I just post a photo of my ass on the settee doing bugger all?
I am now curled up on the settee watching TV. I’ve bypassed ‘Say yes to the dress’ and ‘Real housewives of wherever’ and I’ve opted for a series binge of a drama on Netflix. Anything will do as long as it take my mind off productivity; I’m basking in the control of the remote and it’s all mine for – wait for a it – a couple of hours! Does that mWho’s going to stop me? I am having a moment to myself and do I feel guilty? Do I heck!
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