Pig Perfection and Rolling in the Mud with Long Eyelashes

Oinks, oinks...

Perfection what a magnificent word – it comes from ‘perfect’ defined in my Chambers Dictionary as “without flaw, blemish or fault”. I am caught in a terrible cyclone of perfection. Its wind’s chain me to my inner confusion and won’t let me out, move ahead, get things done.

The magic of pigs

Don’t get me wrong I do love pigs. They’re pink, hairy and have the most magnificent eyelashes of any mammal. They’re really cute when they’re small teeny-weeny piglets with curly tails with white down all over their bright pink flawless skin.

But here is not a discussion of pigs and the relative merits of their developmental stages. I want to explore their psychological trait of greed. Scoffing down food till you burst with grunts and happy abandon, snuffling out roots and burying down deep in the mud for any scerick of a tasty morsel that may be growing, the need for more, more, more…

Images of greedy gobblers

For that is perfection in my world. A greed for a world of Vogue covers in Technicolor, for groomed texts and shiny glistening moments of action that run on the Nike mantra of ‘Just Do It’.

I want perfection because? I want to be a billionaire, drive high performance cars, look divine in Chanel make-up. I want perfection because then I can live on tropical beaches where I fly in by helicopter and am served sushi in a floating canoe by a toned suntanned muscle man half my age who would go to bed with me if I asked.

I will never just do it

But I will never jump like Michael Jordon. My writing and communication skills will never meet the likes of Hilary Clinton on the Forbes top 100 most powerful women.

And all this perfection, and the need for super achievement leaves me prostate on the floor.

Swine-like abandon

So maybe I need to return to my fuzzy little pigs and concentrate on their positive traits. On their happy grunts of abandon as they enjoy the feeling of slippery mud on their albino skin; on their happy smiles and eyelashes of the gods…

Then perfection takes on another meaning, and I am free and at liberty to be who I am and leave Michael Jordan and Hilary to ‘Just Do It’.


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