I almost didn’t share this post with you.
I almost didn’t share it because the recipe I made didn’t turn out as visually appealing as I’d hoped. Delicious, yes, but visually? Oh dear me.
But this blog isn’t about all the successful recipes I’ve made. It’s about the good, the bad and the not-so-good-looking.
For as long as I can remember, I’ve had a problem with perfection. The problem is that I want to achieve perfection — beautiful, successful, undeniable, unachievable perfection. It started with grades in middle school and high school. I was bound and determined to get straight As every semester, and if I got anything lower than that on a single test, I’d run home bawling. True story (unfortunately).
Then, as I feel it happens with most girls, it transitioned to physical appearance. I would spend hours — no joke, hours — each morning tweaking the tiniest strands of hair on my head until my coif was absolutely even, voluminous and shiny. If even an eyelash was out of the way, if a hemline was uneven, if my jeans were starting to get stringy at the ankles, I’d painstakingly rectify any situation until I felt, well, perfect. But I never, ever, really did feel completely and utterly perfect.