C meets me in a coffee shop after school on my day off, allowing me to grab a caffeine hit and stave off that inexorable coffee-withdrawal headache. I’ve noticed that there’s a pattern of general disapproval emerging in the conversations we have
Last week:
(Me) ‘I love the grey they’ve used on the walls here. It would look great in your bedroom’
‘It looks like the colour we used to have in the living room’
‘It’s definitely not the same colour. It’s greener, but warmer as well’
‘Well, maybe not the same, but very similar’
‘I’ll bring the colour charts with me next week and match it’
‘Oh please no, not the colour charts’
This week:
(Me, showing C my phone) ‘Look at this cupcake. How cute is that!’
‘Was that muffin on that counter?’
‘Yes. Look, it’s smiling’
‘And you just went over and took that photo?’
I nod
‘You’re SO weird’
This is teenage disapproval. It’s possibly the worst kind, and it’s not made any easier by the fact that she’s probably right: I am weird, and I do talk about colour charts and happy cupcakes too often
Poshbird with Passion 