Can’t Be Arsed (A Grown-Up Fairytale)

Can’t Be Arsed (A Grown-Up Fairytale)

by MissT

Once upon a time, I was the girl men tripped over themselves for. Doors magically opened, chairs were pulled out, compliments rained down like confetti. I didn’t walk into a room — I sparkled into it.Fast forward a few decades, and I don’t so much sparkle as bulldoze. Men don’t bother opening doors now — they just step aside in case my hips knock the bloody frame clean off. Ariel has left the building. Ursula’s waddled in with a shopping bag and a bad attitude.And the “fairytale companions”? Forget woodland creatures singing. I woke up one morning with my own set of dwarves: Achy-Knee, Swollen-Ankle, Sleepy-Head, Leaky-Pants and Bingo-Wing. The Prince? Missing in action. The sex drive? Drove off with no forwarding address.I’ve got more certificates and diet books than sense. Hell, I even studied Weight Management — back when my weight was actually managed. These days? It’s me, a packet of Revels, and elasticated waistbands that cry for mercy. They call it comfort eating — but there’s nothing comforting about cutting off your own circulation because you can’t leave a Malteser behind.Social life? Don’t be daft. I’ve perfected the art of saying, “Sorry, I’ve already got plans” — while sliding into pyjamas and resuming my Olympic-level sofa dent.It’s funny, until it isn’t. Until you catch yourself sighing at the mirror and realise the joke’s on you.Because here’s the thing:I know this isn’t how I want my story to end. I don’t want Can’t Be Arsed carved on my headstone.I want knees that don’t snap like kindling. Jeans that fasten with a button, not a prayer. Skin that glows for the right reasons. Energy, mischief — maybe even a little bit of feckin’ fabulous back in the mix.So, I gave myself a good talking to.“Listen, love. You’re not finished. Stop pretending naps are mandatory. Stop acting like crisps eaten in the car don’t count. And stop waiting for some half-arsed prince — he’s probably catfishing women on Tinder anyway. You don’t need saving. You need to save yourself.Move more.Eat like you give a toss.Drink some water that isn’t gin.Laugh until your face hurts.Put yourself first.And be arsed — at least some of the time — because Future You is banking on it.”So here’s the deal:Stop waiting for Monday.Stop waiting for motivation to fall out of the sky.Start small.Start scrappy.Start now.And if you trip up — crown crooked, mascara smeared — climb back on your carriage and keep going.Because this is still your story.And you might not sparkle into every room anymore…but you can damn well shine in your own.