Insert Cute Photo Here.

My brain is never a quiet place. Never.

My ‘inside voice’ is like an overbearing auntie with an opinion on everything, and never shuts up.

Writing has been my fun way of unloading these discussions, sharing the mildly valuable things that are expressed, and finding friends that can relate.

The only thing preventing me from posting more (and it’s not the PMs from world princes, with zero followers), is that each post needs to be accompanied by a photo. I HATE photos.

Gone are the days of being valued simply for what you say. Now, it’s all about the perfect picture.

Mirror selfies, ‘caught in the moment’ strolls across the street, open mouth fits of laughter. Organic (?)
moments captured by a friend, spouse, or willing toddler.

Those photos never work out well for me. And let me tell you, my brain auntie has plenty to say about
my cringey moments. So, welcome to my new strategy.

When I have something to say, and no photo to express it, I’m going to leave it to the reader’s
imagination.

Today friends, picture me at my desk. I’m gazing out the window, admiring the stunning lilac bush in ful
bloom. The sun pours in, reflecting the perfect highlights in my hair. My insta-worthy, white lounge wear
gives me an angelic appearance. The ‘best mom ever’ mug (purchased by my adoring children) is
cleverly placed to show a cinnamon heart, set atop the billowy foam of my steamy cappuccino. A single
biscotti sits to the side – no doubt a reflection of my restraint. I’ll eat it later. A white rose, in a stunning
vase, is set next to my keyboard. “Where did you buy that?”, people will ask. “Include a link”, they’ll say.
My expression? Perfectly serene with the tiniest of smirks. Proud of myself for thinking I’ve beat the
system.

Problem solved (I hope) and definitely more to come. p

p.s. Damnit. My inside voice feels intent on sharing that my hair hasn’t been cut or coloured in 4
months – let alone highlighted. This is Canada, and everything is dead outside my window. I’m wearing
my old MTV t-shirt and the only thing on my desk is last night’s leftover pizza. Okay – just the crust. I ate
the pizza on the way from the kitchen. At least the smirk is accurate.