I recently made a fabric blind for the downstairs loo.  I had the perfect vintage fabric, I had the backing fabric, I had the will, unfortunately I no longer had the sewing machine I was borrowing but I figured I could stitch it by hand. Which I totally could. Stitched it all up, super quick and easy job, et voilĂ . It is shit.

It's too narrow, not only that but it's wonky and my exceptional hand stitching skills are not as exceptional as I imagined. Watching Darren's face as he struggled to find something nice to say about it was all the evidence I needed that I had made something a bit crap.

But here's the thing, the strangest thing, I happen to love it.  I love the fact that it's wonky and too narrow, a bit naff and altogether a bit 1960's garish for our downstairs loo. I love the fact that it isn't perfect and I love that I love that. I know that it'll make people laugh and perhaps wonder about my sanity, I'm pretty sure it'll become a talking point and probably not for all the right reasons and I think that's just peachy.

I've never been comfortable with perfect. Perfect has always slightly freaked me out and yet I still struggle with the desire to have the perfect house, the perfect hair, the perfect lawn, the perfect freaking life. I'm pretty sure that I'm not the only one. We are fed a daily diet of perfection, a constant feed of stupidly airbrushed models, perfect homes, amazing lifestyles, hipster simplicity and yoga toned bodies to die for. It is hard, it is very hard not to be influenced, not to have a small sliver of comparison slip into your psyche.

It's terribly undermining to our amazing lives to want to be so perfect. We aren't meant to be perfect, we are meant to be alive in all its messy glory, to feel, to laugh so much that snot blows out our noses, to dance like rusty robots and appreciate all the wonderful gifts we have been given.

We are already perfect in every way so I reckon this life must be for celebrating imperfection, have a couple of speeling mistakes in your blog posts ladies and show us a picture of your crappy crafts, messy rooms, ironing piles and wonky picture frames. Then we can all breathe a sigh a relief, forget about preparing that perfect shot for instagram and get back to watching Nashville with a nice cup of tea.

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