Don’t you just love how I’ve dropped us all in the same boat here? OK – am I Pinterest-ing my relationship, is the question. I’m sitting here ‘working through’ my lunch hour (READ: scrolling through pinterest with one hand, keeping up the pretence by maximising and minimising tabs as required with the other) and I always find my way to one website. My haven of the internet — my Pinterest.
It’s an odd sort of self-harm, pinning. I know that no good can come from scrolling through images of that perfect beachy wave hair, and am under no illusion that I will ever have a copper roll top bath in a wet room the size of my old school gym — but I keep coming back for more. Sicko. Voyeurism’s the name — aesthetics is the game. We’re constantly watching other people’s lives and setting a standard for ourselves that really, when it comes down to it, has no effect on the things that really matter. It’s easy enough to wonder why my home isn’t this beautiful/why I can’t just put down the pizza and pick up the avocado/why my contour isn’t razor sharp (a girl can dream), but I’ve found myself pinning a brand new subject of late… engagement rings.
*Woop, there it is.*
Yes — I have become one of those women. I know, I’m surprised too. I was never the young girl dreaming of the big wedding, and if you asked me right now what colour my bridesmaid dresses will be I’d say cranberry because I’m shoving them in my mouth as I type this. I began weaving in and out of pins and boards, wondering what kind of ring I’d like — but that barely touches the sides. How will he propose? Where will he do it? Has he asked my dad for permission? Does my best friend know? Will there be a secret photographer capturing the moment? OMG WHITE DOVES. I’m a lost soul looking for answers and my only hope is Pinterest, who is now shiftily avoiding eye contact with me after realising the shit storm she’s caused.
I sometimes take a moment between pear diamond daydreams to consider what the poor unsuspecting fool I’m fake engaged to is doing right there and then. Not pinning, that’s for sure. He could be at Argos for all I know (surely not) picking a white gold (please stop) square cut diamond (send help) and heading my way to pop the question. But that’s OK. The guy loves me – so who am I to unpin?
Why do we get carried away with striving for the perfect in life, instead of enjoying the completely normal, sometimes really shitty but sometimes bloody brilliant, non-perfect life we have?