If there’s one thing at which I excel, it’s under-achievement. I can imagine few more humiliating things in life than a girls night out/pub quiz in the company of Karren Brady, Nicola Horlicks, or Christine f**king Lagarde.
Over-achievers suck. I mean, what’s so wrong with doing well at school, going to university, doing a post-graduate degree, getting a really exciting job that’s full of prospects, and then, you know, doing nothing for six years! (And when I say nothing, I mean raising three kids, but not having a CAREER or ‘IT ALL’…)
So anyway, I thought I’d create an alternative list of skills I don’t have, especially for my partner – who today told me I trade on my insecurities. And since feeling inadequate is obviously the cornerstone of my identity, my main social currency, I should probably rehearse this list aloud every morning, preferably in the mirror, just before the school run. This would be put me in the correct frame of mind for taking the piss out of myself at the school gates in front of the hospital consultant, company director, and lawyer parents.
So here goes:
1) I can’t wink with my left eye. (My left eye is a useless ball of goo. As a kid, I wore glasses. One lens was so spectacularly magnified it looked like Cyclops had walked into the playground.)
2. I can’t whistle. (Minor motor skills are SO over-rated.)
3. I can’t blow balloons up. (See above.)
4) I can’t join motorways. (Being on a slip road is like suddenly having Satan pop up in the back of your car, wailing and bellowing and screaming “faster faster for fucksakes” in your ear, and “look really quickly in the side mirror with your one good eye you useless cow”.)
5) I can’t uncork bottles.
6) I can’t do a French plait.
7) I can’t gargle. This is of course a total nightmare, a real bloody hindrance in life.
8) I can’t ride a bike. (About which I don’t give a shiny shite. Who wants to sit on a seat that makes you feel like you’ve got a huge misshapen sanitary towel wedged up your ass anyway, and especially when said bike massively increases your chances of, you know, BEING KILLED.)
Hey, my life-coach would be proud of me.
PS There are plenty of things I can do (she says, grinning gleefully), but that’s one for another blog … maybe …