It takes a special person to move through life utterly disregarding other people’s opinions. To do so is to be egocentric in the truest sense of the word and society kind of frowns on that – maybe because it removes our ability to manoeuvre and manipulate each other. We humans are a complex bunch.
Farm Girl has certainly been feeling the weight of others expectations of late; Sometimes real ones, sometimes presumptions. If she takes the last piece of cake “everyone else” will miss out and be sad with her. If she doesn’t want to walk on the beach, “everyone” will be disappointed in her. “Everyone” wants her to go back to conventional school. This “everyone” is pretty demanding!
A little guided googling determined a sentiment we can all aspire to, sure in the knowledge that none of us really has what it takes to achieve it.
Mozart was one committed, possibly conceited, undeniably clever, cookie and Farm Girl’s turn as Sage was looking pretty sussed..until another one of those pesky expectation vexations reared their head.
The Homestead has discovered a new favourite cafe. Hectors has a cabinet crammed with the most delicious, freshest, coolest goodies this side of somewhere quite far away and, being run by locals, effortlessly oozes that unique New Brighton vibe. It also, however, has an ever-changing menu; it all comes down to what’s in the garden or in season. Those Homesteaders who like things constant, a group of which Farm Girl is President, found this rather disquieting and many Friday lunchtime discussions revolved around the all utter proper-ness of good, seasonal, home-made food. Then she discovered (Thanks Troy, Eve and crew) putting anything inside a croissant renders it unbelievably delicious.
So, when her turn to play Sage rolled around, she had it sorted…except…well…with all this Great British Bake Off fever that’s been sweeping the Homestead of late, she’d be expected to make the croissants from scratch (cue the welling up of tears)…”and I just can’t!“
Cue the older folk bowing slightly under that expectation weight; we should say, “Ptshaw!”, got out the pinnies and initiate a full-on croissant bake off. But it was Friday; the wine was cooling and The Renovator was picking up Fish and Chips on his way home. We just didn’t want to. Instead we uttered a dismissive, “Pah!”and got The Renovator to pick up a couple of bags of premade pastry delights and a good hunk of treat cheese while dinner was a’cooking.
Which, we are happy to report, totally lived up to expectations, real or presumed.