If life was like my Instagram feed, It would be pretty damn perfect. #Blessed even. And not in the ironic way that is my general preference.
My house would be tidy and styled to within an inch of its on trend life. Not just in the one corner in which I choose to arrange the only three stylish items I even own… That were given to me by someone else. #Lucky
My walk-in wardrobe wouldn’t look like a catastrophic clothes grenade had just detonated, taking the odd mismatched shoe with it as collateral damage.
My kids would have clean faces.
And clean clothes.
Stylish ones.
#Swag
My daughter wouldn’t be dressed like a crazy homeless princess, my son wouldn’t have lost his finger to the dark and lonely crevice of his own nostril for approximately 35 hours a day (that’s how long days are, right???) and my baby wouldn’t have torn up my Better Homes and Gardens magazine and eaten the evidence.
In fact, I wouldn’t even be reading Better Homes and Gardens. I’d be reading Vogue... Vogue Living even.
Reading. Hahahahaha. Because that is a thing that happens in my life.
#Notreally.
But if my life was like my Instagram feed it would.
I would read intellectual books by literary authors with pretty covers. Or design magazines, because I’d be a stylish person who cared about #fashion.
My chosen reading material would be artfully placed; nonchalantly scattered on a tabletop next to a Michael Kors purse and the bunch of flowers recently received (#soblessed), as I casually enjoy a coffee still hot (#relaxing).