A treatise on the ridiculous unattainable perfection that is Instagram

I’m a little late to the Instagram but have now discovered the enchanted world of Domestic Bloggers – in particular British ones. I follow them religiously checking every morning to see what different angle of their light filtered kitchen they have posted or what steaming loaf of stone fruit bread they’ve baked. I’ve come to the conclusion that these domestic goddesses have perfect lives – they clearly don’t cook because their pristine countertops only ever have an adroitly placed wooden spoon sitting in a vintage stoneware bowl of glistening cookie dough next to a bespoke enameled pitcher full of luscious peonies drooping their fecund heads. Now I don’t know about you but on my kitchen counter, at any given time, are a toaster, two coffee makers, a blender, a seltzer machine, a bowl of overripe fruit with the stickers still on, the mail, a pile of week old newspapers, my kids broken earbuds, an empty milk carton and discarded glassware- well because – teenage sons. And that is on a clean day! On a particularly messy day add the dog’s leash, discarded tools that for some reason can’t make it the 10 ft. back into the garage, birthday cards I keep hoping the family will get the hint and sign since I leave open with a pen and large note saying “sign this!”, coupons, sunglasses, etc… How I wish I could make a surprise visit to “Ivy Covered Cottage” or “No 12 Perfect Lane” and rock their Victorian terraced lives. I dream of ambushing them, muddy boots and all. I would flop on their couch with a bag of chips and when they weren’t looking wipe my greasy fingers on the organic naturally dyed linen. You know what I think? I think they live next door in a house crammed full of stuff  and only enter their Goldilocks cottage to take Instagram pics or get away from their kids. I mean even their children are perfect. The shiny happy faces smiling for the camera even though they are drowning in ruffled gingham pinafores. Come on! Who are these kids? On a good day my toddlers were sporting inside out stained t-shirts and their shorts would most definitely have been on backwards.

And don’t even get me started on the travel bloggers. You know who I mean.  The ones with the endless supply of cash in order to jet around the world to the most far flung place whose sole purpose is to take the photos we jealously flick through while standing in line at Target.

Before you ask “No. The library does not have an Instagram account.”, but if we did it would be of photos of artfully stacked ancient, gilt lettered tomes with cups of steaming tea in fine bone china cups. But we do (insert shameless plug here) have Facebook and Twitter – so follow us even though we’re not perfect…