I’m going to throw some names out there-
Goldie Hawn and Kate Hudson
Gerry Hall and Georgia May Jagger
Melanie Griffith and Dakota Johnson
Pearl and Daisy Lowe
If you’re up on your celeb knowledge you will know they are all mothers and daughters.
If you’re up on your eyesight you will also know they are all ridiculously hot.
Not oh you look quite nice when you wear that new Mac lipstick and bother to blow dry your hair hot.
I’m talking BAM! Sex in your face hot.
Mother Nature at her finest, gifting daughters model looks, gazelle-like limbs, and Disney-esque hair.
What lucky women they are to inherit such wonderful things from their mothers.
I too have a mother, and she is very beautiful and I love her, but I’m no Daisy Lowe.
I think something in the DNA must have mutated when my mother and father bred because I seemed to inherit everything that Daisy Lowe didn’t.
A small list….
HAYFEVER. As in don’t take me outside in the summer months if you expect me to stop sneezing long enough to have a conversation.
GRASS ALLERGY. Linked to the above. Picnics on the grass are great fun until someone notices the giant red welts all over my legs and reacts with a, “What the fuck is that?”
HEAT RASH. Get it every time I go on holiday and get much the same reaction as I do with the grass allergy. Clubbing in Ibiza was always fun, surrounded by tanned boho chic as I scratched madly at myself in a dark corner.
AFRO. People who don’t have a clue what I mean by this and tell me they also have a “natural wave” need to get a grip. Again, on holiday, my hair turns into a frazzled afro. My friends once dubbed me the Nutty Professor as I swanned around Puerto Banus and asked me to never leave the apartment again with my hair down.
BLINDNESS. Can’t see without sticking contact lenses in my eyes. Combine this with the hayfever and I probably mention my contact lenses about three times a day in the summer months.
BACK PROBLEMS. I can shop for about an hour tops before I start clinging on to mannequins for strength and looking like an urban Quasimodo.
PALE SKIN. I’m half Irish. My skin is naturally blue. I basically look like a ginger smurf in winter, then a crispy human prawn in the summer when I attempt to tan.
THIN HAIR. My dad is pretty damn bald, luckily I’m not, but my hair is so fine that when I twist it into a “sexy” bun, Loreal advert-style, I’m left with what looks like a small furry Malteser on the back of my head. Use a doughnut, say all the people with thick, luscious locks. Cheers, not enough hair to cover it, now kindly fuck off with your advice because you don’t know the suffering!!!!
NO WAIST. It is what is says. I have no waist. Just broad shoulders and an unusually wide rib cage which narrows to slim legs. Basically a Dairylea triangle and I’m not even edible, so what’s the point?
INVISIBLE TOES. Baby toes so small you have to keep checking they haven’t fallen off when you’re wearing flip flops. And an accompanying toenail so small you have to use a toothpick to apply varnish.
A LACK OF RHYTHM. I can’t even co-ordinate myself in an exercise class if it involves more than one move. I’m currently persuading my fiancé to hold our first dance at the wedding with me sat on a chair so he can dance around me and distract from the fact I can’t even sway to music.
UNCONTROLLABLE URGE TO CRY AT EVERYTHING ON TV. Gogglebox, athletics, Eastenders, anything. If it involves people winning, losing, dying, living, being reunited with loves ones, or falling in love, I will be right next to you with my head in a box of Kleenex. I was inconsolable this week after watching a crocodile be killed for food. “Why? Why do we eat animals? I’m turning vegetarian,” I wailed, shedding serious amounts of tears.
ARACHNOPHOBIA. Can’t even get a glass over them for fear I will put myself in striking distance. I once scrubbed my skin until it bled after a money spider landed on me. Neurosis.
FEAR OF DOGS. Depends on the dog. If they jump, lick, bite, or bark, and are bigger than a Yorkshire terrier, it’s likely I will hate them, so don’t bother laughing and telling me they’re friendly because as their owner you are bias and I already don’t trust you.
FEAR OF HORSES. Just do not come near me with a horse ever, unless I am armed.
FEAR OF PEOPLE DOING UP MY ZIPS. If I have no hands free, sure you can help do up my jacket, but stop the zip before you reach my neck otherwise we are gonna have a problem.
FEAR OF HOUSE PHONES. If you need me, ring my mobile. Can’t handle the not knowing element when I hear the dreaded tone of the house phone.
AN UGLY NEED TO WIN. Prior to ten pin bowling recently, I was caught practising my technique in the kitchen with the aid of a YouTube video. Literally anything I do gets turned into a competition. Christmas games this year ended up with most of the family wishing I would go to bed and stop sucking the fun out of it. Every point won by me was matched with fist shaking and air pounding, and every point lost was met with a pause for an official appeal and accusation of cheating. Shit went down.
I could honestly go on and on…and on.
So I would like to say, thanks mum and dad for raising me and making me such a catch!
Luckily they also passed down a brain and the art of self-deprecation so I could write this, so hey ho! It’s not all bad.