Ladies, girls, meterosexuals,
At some point in your life, I bet you have considered or been interested in 'a juice cleanse'. 3-7 days of consuming only juice in order to expel toxins, reset your systems and lose weight. Imagine hopping lightly about your day to day business, knowing your body contains only organic mush.
Well you would be hopping lightly.
Because you would have had to sell all your earthly positions including clothes, shoes and gold teeth to pay for your fucking juice cleanse.
Yes, today I was so horrified at the price of juice cleanses, I came out of blogger retirement to express my rage.
To place the situation in greater context: I'm alone and bored when suddenly, I'm taken with the idea of a pre Christmas detox, but not any detox! No, the detox to end all detoxes. The type of detox that enables you to see sounds. The type of detox that makes your digestive system more efficient than a Nokia 3210. The type of detox that changes the way you live and while the unenlightened onlookers observe you 'sunbathing' you scoff at their idiocy, as they have no idea that you are in fact, PHOTOSYNTHESISING!
So, in my feverish rampage, I begin to Google. I open several tabs from the first page of results.
'okay...so this looks good...nice packaging...oo kale, thats healthy...add to basket...7 day plan'
Do you know how much a 7 day juice plan costs?! DO YOU!?
SEVEN HUNDRED AND TWENTY POUNDS.
For £720, I literally need it to make me immortal.
I'd need to spend the rest of eternity dancing through space and time with the torso of Gwyneth Paltrow, and the legs of a jungle cat.
I'd need to be so healthy, that as I entered or exited any room, wind would blow, slow motion would ensue, and everyone on the scene would be forced by a law of physics to watch me for 3 straight minutes, while Tibetan monks with pan pipes played a Beyonce tribute act.
I'd need to become so beautifully slender and glowing, that every time I uploaded a picture to Instagram, a Victoria's Secret model would hang herself.
Alas, these are non of the 'common side effects' of this particular juice cleanse. Although "loose bowel movements" and 'dizziness' were.
If I wanted to see someone shit themselves and faint, I'd watch the bulimic girl at my gym do weights.
Suffice to say, I didn't 'proceed to payment', and after I'd screamed out my window in Korean for half an hour, I calmed down.
I realised, I wasn't angry with the juice. I was angry with myself.
"Oh you mean because you've not been treating your body very well, and you realised that the fury you experienced was the manifestation of the all the deeply internalised feelings of inadequacy you've repressed with alcohol and dairy?"
I was angry because i've been slumming it in investment banking for a year when I could have been whisking up some prunes, getting offensively rich.
More money, better hours, and the prospect of a career that doesn't make me feel like each day is just one step in the slow heavy-lidded march towards hissing a final dusty breath into the empty liquor cabinet of my family-less 18 bedroom home, aged 36.
Off to reassess my life choices.
The Mink Panther