12 January 2022 – You wouldn’t know a successful stepmother if it slapped you on the arse.

How to describe it without inadvertently catfishing?

Intention for the day: tattoo “lonely stepmother” on forehead.

I wouldn’t know a successful stepmother if she slapped me on the fine behind.

How very well COULD I? They all look like v. decent, normal humans. Or possibly slinking in the shadows, talons around old fashioneds. A cloud of Chanel hiding lack of comfort. Either way, one does not ever, ever talk about it. It’s a shame, we would all be best friends, this we know.

Am a proud millennial. Part of the mortgage hustling, first family, into-their-thirties-but-only-just generation. It’s a fine thing. But seemingly short on openly proud stepmotherhood.

Thought about joining Peanut. Got to the point of uploading my photo – side smile, wine in one hand, cheek in the other. Flirty, but cool about it. Be my friend.

“How many children” – finger hovering over the plus. How many children do I have? How many children… do I have.

No children. Or maybe one, but how to describe it without inadvertently catfishing? Am hoodwinking innocent mothers into befriending this twisty stepmother soul, lost and confused, like some kind of homeless troll.

“Interested in” – hot dads. Don’t say hot dads. I’M A LOW-LIFE, DON’T LOOK AT ME.

Wine downed. Profile deleted. Normality resumed. I’ll just approach women in the bathrooms of bars like any normal person.

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