On fixing oneself versus accepting oneself…

I type away, feeling particularly good about myself, as I sit waiting for a train. It’s one of those moments where I feel not just grown up but successfully grown up. With my laptop out, and my book. My green jacket and checkered grey and black scarf hung over my hand luggage. Yes, I think, far too smug, I look the part. It’s a lie, of course, I’m not sure if the jacket really goes with the jumper. Or if the boots are too much. Technically they are snow boots, and it is not snowing. But I’m cold, really cold, I mean it’s after midday and the fog still hasn’t lifted. I’ve seen other people wearing them already, so I should be okay, shouldn’t I. Not a complete newbie. And the scarf, which I love, is one from Zara and I’m afraid I’ll walk passed someone else with the same one like it’s high school, and that matters anymore. Beyond that, I don’t really know how to wear it. It keeps slipping off my shoulder, and I keep flipping it back up but I think it’s a battle I’m losing.

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A Perrier Lifestyle…

‘Don’t drink that,’ says my husband shaking his head and screwing his forehead up in distaste at the generic silver and black can in my mum’s hand. ‘Soda Water pulls the minerals out of your body and leaves you more dehydrated. Drink this,’ he hands her a bottle of Perrier.

We are perched on stools in the business class lounge in Hong Kong. It seemed to be the least offensive place for us to perch, given that my girls’ ‘spirited cuteness’ tended to be viewed as a personal affront, in places like this.

Mum laughs and looks around at what has to be one of the largest business class lounges I’ve ever been in. It’s like a luxury hotel, chandeliers hang from the ceiling and people mill about in various states of activity – from those furiously tapping away on their laptops to those asleep on the chaise lounges. Staff stand at the ready behind four different buffet stations, offering a wonka-sized selection of doughnuts, ice cream, noodles, and antipasto.

‘This is my daughter’s life,’ says my mother, waving around the bottle of Perrier, ‘and this is mine,’ she says holding up a silver and black can of soda water.

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