Known as the wife of… remembered for everything after.
Apparently the problem isn't that I used to live on burgers, fries and cookies. The problem started when I replaced them with steak. Funny how healthy choices suddenly make everyone a nutrition expert.
I saw one photo of a rescue dog from Turkey... and somehow already knew he belonged with us. Looking back, this wasn't the first time my gut completely ignored logic, and I'm starting to think my husband never really got a vote.
Every year I seem to book a holiday that's harder to find than the last. Last year it was a tipi in the middle of nowhere. This year it was an off-grid farmhouse in Italy, surrounded by wild boars, wolves, and complete silence. Maybe it's a cry for help... or maybe I've finally figured out what peace actually feels like.
I thought this story was about swapping my Audi for a Volkswagen. Turns out it was about something much bigger. Somewhere between Italian mountain roads, a manual gearbox, and two sleeping dogs, I realised I'd changed more than I thought.
Apparently, women my age are supposed to be talking about mood swings, sleepless nights and hot flashes. Meanwhile... I'm over here eating ribeyes, sleeping like a teenager, and wondering if my hormones forgot to read the memo. Karen says it's impossible. I call it Tuesday.
Since becoming a very small carnivore influencer, my Instagram feed has become one endless stream of perfectly cooked ribeyes... Which is great. Until people start eating them. Apparently, somewhere between buying the steak and taking the first bite, half the internet forgets how to hold a fork and knife. Maybe I'm old-fashioned. Maybe etiquette still matters. Or maybe carnivore has simply made me honest enough to say what everyone else is secretly thinking. Debbie says I'm judging. Karen says cutlery is probably toxic. I'm just trying to save the steak.
