You have as many hours in the day as Beyonce...
We really should start that new hobby, start cooking from scratch, writing those thank you notes from your birthday 2 months ago and calling granny for a chin wag.
Even more
so, we should all be becoming a bootilicious babe like Beyonce. Running 10km a
night in prep for that race we entered a month ago with one month left to
train. Or that exercise DVD you begged auntie Jane to get us for Christmas. Or
that workout regime we illegally downloaded because we want to die whilst doing
star jumps. Oooooor my favourite, working out whether you’ve wet yourself doing
burpees or you have just sweated that much (this has happened to me…3 times)
Yes we do
have the same amount of hours in the day as Beyonce however… We work 9 hours of
the day excluding our commute. Our jobs do not involve pampering and having a
rack of doom and a budonk that really is devine. Our faces arrive at work the
tube glow. A mix of stickiness that has accumulated from other bodies touching
us, sometimes in inappropriate places, which, because im disgusting sometimes I
get off on and a dew that lingers from general London dirt. Our day consists of
staring at a computer screen, making idol chit chat and if your as lucky as me
brewing about 10 cups of tea.
When we
come home from work our head says do that run, get your 5 year plan out and ork
out how your going to own your own company and make an elaborate meal (for one)
with that kale, quinoa and saffron.
But my
heart, oh it says something completely different to me. It just speaks to me I
a more compelling way. The sofa wants you, it needs ypu. You slump down, crack
open that family size bar that you purchased on the way home (because you’ve
had a really hard day and you deserve it) put netflicks on and watch SAMCRO,
because Charlie Hunnam really is the only man you need in your life.
You have as
many hours in the day as Beyonce, buuuuuut… that doughnut is looking at you.
That Sunday dinner with yorkies and extra gravy is shouting at you and that
night out with the girls with the copious amounts of wine that turns into gin
that turns into jager bombs is SCREAMING at you.
Yes I have
as many hours in the day as Beyonce, but fuck it, I’d rather be drunk in love
(especially with Charlie Hunnam and a family size bar of chocolate) than
bootilicious any day, but who says we cant do both?
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