It's not often that I feel completely comfortable. Forever searching for something intangible, I don't know what I am looking for – not exactly – but somehow, I know that she has it. That girl walking on the pavement opposite me with the manicured haircut and immaculate makeup. The mate who's just announced that’s she’s pregnant, cradling her swollen belly with a big smile plastered across her face as she posts a photo in our WhatsApp group. Or maybe the one who’s just got a promotion, or a puppy, or bought a new house, or (insert insurmountable trigger here, because, let’s face it, it could be anything).


The other day, I was sitting opposite this girl on the tube. She looked so confident and content, reading a book of poetry with her stylish bob and super-straight fringe. I was jealous. Jealous of the way she was holding herself. Envious of her vibe. I wanted that top she was wearing, wondered where it’s from? I wanted to ask, so I can buy myself a little piece of what she already has. She looked so much nicer than me. I suddenly hated everything I was wearing and had an urgent need to go home.


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