Retardation

People might think ‘how many fingers did she put into a plug socket?!’ when they see you but they still see ME. Curls, I love you.

I get called Simba and/or Mufasa but seriously, Hakuna Matata (it means 'no worries')! Curls, I love you.

I have to use, and have no, GHDs. 180 degrees of ceramic heat technology struggle to handle you - but 180 minutes would struggle to create the same level of frizzy, unmanageable perfection. Curls, I love you.

I lose rulers and packets of ketchup in your Amazonian mess. Thank you for an original storage device others lack. Curls, I love you.

Sometimes you confuse people on my ethnicity. This permits me with the opportunity to create an alter-ego. Curls, I love you.

Curls, you really wind (me) up.



(Yes, I took some liberties)

My brain talks to me. Seriously, it won’t shut up.

It may just be the most self-less brain in the world - It’s always concerned about me.

‘What the hell have you done with your life?’ it asks, genuinely concerned.

It creates panic and then changes its mind:

‘Don’t worry, it’ll work out in the end’

‘Brain’, I say, ‘stop talking’

I’m pretty sure it’s bi-polar, the number of mood swings it has.

My brain then randomly bursts into song at 3am with lyrics everyone else has forgotten about. I don’t need a radio for a rendition of The Lighthouse Family...

Shut up, brain. I’m trying to sleep!

On it goes singing. ‘What’s the next line?’ it asks, indifferent to my frustrations.

‘You will always keep me flying high in the sky of love’, I say – now bored of the fight and resorting to rolling my eyes and sighing restlessly.

‘Oh by the way, you need to buy some toothpaste tomorrow. Write it down before you forget!’

...Thanks Brain :)