The Curse Of Being Average

One thing I have come to realise over the years is that I am hopelessly, insufferably, unfortunately, average. Being average is by no means a bad thing - it grants you near immunity from abuse as, really, there isn't a whole lot worthy of insult. The curse of being average is that it renders you almost completely invisible. To the world as a whole, I am part of the scenery, about as exciting as a lamppost and just as noticeable. If you were to notice me, it might be with the same level of enthusiasm as you note a tree, or a house, or a bus. Just one of those things.

Average-ness pervades my entire being. I am from an average background (parents are separated, one sister two years my junior, live in a suburban town with its fair share of chavs, grumpy pensioners and yummy mummies), of average intelligence (reflected by my distinctly average exam results - no awards of academic excellence in my display cabinet) and of average appearance. I have fairly unremarkable features set in a fairly unremarkable face. Honestly, I get bored every time I look in the mirror. Just take a look at it:

Look! It's my boring face! (I don't have an extra bit of head by the way, that's my sister. If I did, I could hardly describe myself as average. A more accurate description would be medical phenomemon.)

This face lies atop a fairly unremarkable body. My figure is such that may be described as voluptuous on a good day, and just plain fat on a bad day, which I like to blame on a slow metabolism but in actuality is most likely down to a tendency to eat when miserable/angry/bored/feeling any emotion whatsoever. With obesity rising in the UK, this in itself is average. So there you have it. I am the epitome of average - it is inseparable from my being. Far from being some sort of gypsy voodoo curse, it it just one of those things that I will have to deal with. Certain coping mechanisms have presented themselves - I dye my hair, naturally a drab mousy sort of hue, with the brightest pigments I can lay my grasping hands upon, and the consumption of vodka in vast quantities certainly makes for some more interesting nights out. However, there is little to make me stand out from the crowd, so to speak. I'm just another cliche.

In other words, what you will read here is the documentation of my life. How it feels to be cursed with average.