Mother's Day Without Your Mother

Source: telegraph.co.uk

When it comes to Hallmark holidays, I am the ultimate scrooge. While most people embrace events such as Valentine's Day and use it an an excuse to spoil their other halves with stuffed animals and overpriced chocolates, the idea of me entering stores and being force-fed this commercial dribble makes me gag. Luckily for me many of my friends have a similar mindset (though I'm pretty sure if they were taken to a spa and showered with scented rose petals they would be partial to changing their minds), but one particular holiday that seems to grab people's attention is Mother's Day.


Why My Father Bought Me My First Bra

Source: blog.freepeople.com

This is a piece I wrote for Huffington Post blogs a few months back. Apologies for not updating in ages, I promise I will return in due time!

I'm 15, standing in the awkwardly quiet 'Angel' section at Marks and Sparks, and I want to die. My father is beside me, clearing his throat every couple of seconds and prodding me in the shoulder. "Just pick one and be done with it." Shrugging him away I circle the rack, skimming through the varieties, hmm'ing and ahh'ing at the appropriate moments as I turn the tags over in my fingers; underwired, wing, padded, t-shirt, santoni, sports. Christ. Considering my options (or rather, trying to figure out what the hell they actually are), I decide on an embellished pink thing with a cheap plastic heart dangling from the centre. I peer at the label; 32AA. This is my bra size - I actually have a bra size. Beaming, I look up at my dad, who has now turned the colour of beetroot soup, and swiftly drag him to the tills where he stuffs the money in the assistant's hand and glides out, leaving me shoving the purchase in my backpack and smiling apologetically. Who the heck am I kidding; neither of us have the faintest clue what we're doing.


Have Free-From Foods And Drinks Become 'Cool'?

Source: scan.lusu.co.uk/

I am standing in the queue in Costa, the lack of air conditioning reminiscent of a Middle Eastern doctor's office. There are five people in front of me, each one impatiently tapping their toes or drumming their hands on their forearms, waiting to get their caffeine fix. The first girl orders a skinny soya latte. The second, a decaf soya cappuccino. The third, a skinny hazelnut decaf soya hot chocolate. Hold the cream. The fourth, after carefully scouring the menu, also opts for a hot chocolate. And a gluten-free scone. I peer out from the queue, wondering if the stream of customers ahead of me are either a) pompous, b) related or c) coincidentally intolerant to caffeine, gluten or dairy. Then, I recognize the girl who ordered the decaf soya cappuccino. She was in here 3 days earlier, asking for a hazelnut latte with whipped cream. The man who ordered a gluten-free scone changed his mind as he was paying and pointed at the three-tier red velvet cake. Sighing, I walk up to the exhausted barista who passive-aggressively asks how she can help me (sort out your staffing issues for a start babes), glaring at the growing queue behind me; my initial desire for a decaf soya mocha evaporates and I meekly request a peppermint tea.


The Final Testament Of The Holy Bible By James Frey - A Book Review (Sort Of)

Source: aliceshole.blogspot.ca
Despite being an English Literature graduate, I have never written a book review. I may have discussed the ideas within a novel for an exam, racking my brain for another word instead of “symbolise” and droning on about how the author uses animal imagery to explore the notion of love (or something equally ridiculous), and yet I have never communicated my views of a book for pure pleasure. And so, I feel it is time to lose my book review virginity and thrust myself upon the literary analysis bandwagon (okay, too much. Ew).

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