a&a; dairy disaster, but hey! i made it.

It’s been a hectic week, and the weekend has brought a fresh bought of crappy weather in.
I had a bit of a budgeting nightmare, and only realised as my card was declined that I’d miscalculated by rent + gym.
Thank God nails and brows had already been seen to, I say! Food can be worried about after the slow cooked Mexican chicken runs out, and by my reckoning I can definitely stretch that until pay day.


It was your classic ‘awkward’ moment for me this week.
One of those times where everything just stops for a moment and you find yourself looking for the adult that’s responsible, who’s going to (literally) help you clean up.
And you realise you are that adult.

My night time treat is a bowl of protein mousse and some dark chocolate chips. The protein mousse is basically just Greek yoghurt and a scoop of protein powder, but it tastes delicious and I get to satisfy my sweet tooth without binging on family bags of Maltesers or giant blocks of Black Forest Dairy Milk.

I’d got my bowl ready, protein powder was on the bench and I was bringing the yoghurt over to portion out when the thing slips from my hands.
The lid goes flying and I hear the solemn thud and slop of half a kilo of Greek yoghurt flying across my bedroom, painted onto the furnishings with all the finesse of a giant hastily blowing his load onto his dumb girlfriends back so he doesn’t get her pregnant.
Walls and floor and bed and clothes and drawers all pebble dashed with white spots, I was impressed with just how much of a mess I’d managed to make.

​At first I wasn’t sure what I was more upset about, the yoghurt or the potential loss of deposit if I couldn’t clean it up.
Then I realised I was definitely more upset about the yoghurt.
I lost about $2 worth there.

yoghurt disaster. from Becky K on Vimeo.

It didn’t help that my room was a mess, I’d been moving clothes around in a vain attempts to air them out after finding my cupboard was a little damp.
Lazy and tired from work, I’d put them on the floor in between my drawers and desk where they would be ‘safe’, so I could crawl in to bed.
Laundry lay scattered in the general area of the laundry basket and my shoes were where I’d taken them off at the end of the bed.
I grabbed a spoon and a towel and started with the bed, scooping up spoonfuls of Greek yoghurt and despondently wiping them off.

I threw everything in to the wash basket and started on the carpet, realising just how much yoghurt I had lost from the tub, wondering where I drew the line.
As I inspected the yoghurt closer and saw all the little hairs from the still new carpet mixed in with the white I couldn’t convince myself they were vanilla pods and scooped the worst of it straight in to the bin.
Scrubbing the stains on my hands and knees, I was eye level with the carpet making sure I’d got it all out.

We’ll just have to wait and see when it all dries.
In the end I couldn’t help but look around and laugh loudly to myself.
But bugger me, that was at least 2 nights puddings all over my carpet!


After an exhausting weekend at work, I’m pleased to say that I made it.
Even better, so did the rest of the team.
If you’ve ever worked in sales, you’ll understand that strange panic the last few days of the month, when target seems like it’s a million miles away, you don’t feel like you’ll make it and you’re frantically hounding people being ‘that guy’, the type of pushy sales person you hate.
And then, like every month, a small miracle happens, everyone hits and you go out to celebrate, and slack off for the next week until the whole cycle starts again.

Naturally we went out for celebratory food after, partly to toast to our success and partly to say goodbye to Molly.

I’m so in love with my Bitmoji, she’s all the different kinds of cool I want to be – mostly because she has pink hair…

I was freaking out that I wouldn’t hit target, and it was only as I was moaning to Molly that I didn’t want to do it with any help, I wanted to do it myself, (and she was giving me some unashamed side eye) that I realised how ridiculous I sounded.
I wouldn’t say I had a particularly privileged upbringing, I certainly wasn’t molly coddled but I have been told most of my life that I’m a unicorn and being told that I’m a unicorn and believing that I’m a unicorn makes it really hard to get your head around the idea you might just be a horse, or worse a pony and you’ve just got a sparkly dildo strapped to your head.
I think it’s explained a little better in this article here.

I only partly agree with that article in terms of my personal experience, but I totally agree with the sentiment.
I am lucky I wasn’t forced down a mine, or lost my arm by the age of 15 to a cloth press, I’m incredibly privileged to have been born white and have the chance to get a University education and I have never been naiive to the world.
But relatively speaking, I’m still new to the work force, I’ve never really had a career as such, for the most part I’ve always had jobs that are ‘safe’, that haven’t challenged me.
And in a completely nonsensical way I feel personally attacked if I feel like I’m not some superstar or overacheiver, when I thought I might need help to get over the line I wasn’t ok with that.
Sales is a challenge.
In the best possible way. It’s certainly not boring, at least.
It can get a bit monotonous, and there are those days when it feels like all you’ve done it call the same people over and over trying to get them to buy a sodding gym membership, but there’s nothing like end of month.

It’s certainly a work hard/play hard type role.
And there’s definitely money to be made if you’re a super lame-o like me and don’t really do the ‘play hard’ side of things.
I mean I do play hard too, but my idea of play hard involves manicures and pedicures and paying my bills on time and buying soft furnishings and brunch.

Brunch is always a good idea.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s