Things I did not post on instagram today:

The picture of my dog Juno looking exceptionally cute and fluffy as he leaps impossibly high to catch a frisbee captured effortlessly at the perfect intersection of both their airborne trajectories.
Because: I took him for a walk and he rolled in wet grass and duck shit.

The picture of me solo trail-running into the sunset across a high narrow ridgeline that sweeps down into a distant valley ringing in verdant, unfocused mystery.
Because: I overtrained like an idiot and now have tendonitis in both legs leaving me to hobble around the house like a Gumby.

The picture of me at the gym looking buff (er, for my age) and strategically yet casually dressed in designer workout/yoga gear about to take it fully to the next level.
Because: I can’t afford the crazy gym memberships right now, so instead I spent the morning washing my old underpants and trying to find at least one complete set amongst my hole-riddled socks (thanks to Juno again).

The picture of my delicious-looking, colour coordinated, modern yet simplistically rustic lunch spread at the local cafe complete with organic fair trade creme art coffee, and triple layered chocolate tofu smoothie all perfectly set in frame.
Because: I spent lunchtime trying to inflict genocide on a large colony of tiny black ants that had discovered Juno’s half eaten food bowl and then sent out multiple search parties to explore other areas of potential gastronomic promise throughout the house.
Leaving me to eat a hastily constructed soggy peanut butter sandwich with some tiny crunchy black specks that I’m pretty sure weren’t Chia seeds.

The picture of Kelly ever so subtly scantily clad in the back of Ripley our motorhome looking pensively out of the window deep into a vista of high mountains, rough rivers and uninterrupted adventure.
Because: I spent the afternoon looking out across the kitchen sink, mopping the floor and cleaning bits of mouldy grunge out of the far recesses of our pantry.

And because if I ever tried to snap a pic of Kelly in any moment of subtle scantility, she would probably make an instant lens filter out of my scrotum. And post that.

One thought on “Un-stagram.

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