All I Do is Eat and Sleep and Sing

[Edit: This is terrible second-person Mary Sue fan fiction, and may take several liberties with the truth]

Judging by the way your eyes just glazed over there and then, your boyfriend didn’t need to remind you to switch the TV off before Tool Academy last night.

I mean, why would you want to continue reminding yourself about how amazing your life is with such a patient, hard-working, well-educated man who is comfortable in his own modern masculinity? You could only imagine the humiliation you would feel when your boyfriend yawned about your crowing about those stupid girls who couldn’t rein in Twinkle Tool and Lazy Tool just there.

No, you had everything in place for work in the morning, and you just knew that everything would go smoothly and turn out alright. Ever since your boyfriend weaned you onto his philosophy of being an early-rising, hard-working example to modern British society, you knew you were doing your bit for your personal well-being and that of your country. Never mind the bags under your eyes in the first few days of this experiment, your boyfriend claimed that they were as distinctive and as beautiful as Cheryl Cole’s dimples. Yeah, men don’t understand women’s body image hang-ups, but Cheryl Cole! OMGWWCCD!

Of course, the under-eye circles gave way to a clearer complexion as you took on your boyfriend’s new regime. It was such a shame that your own family couldn’t share your enthusiasm. Your boyfriend was trying so hard (bless him!) to explain his simple common-sensical philosophy to your little brother after Christmas lunch, waving his iPhone and demonstrating the Sleep Cycle app as an interactive presentation, but that little brother was still staring at that XBox thingy, frazzling his brain.

“Look at these people, getting up early in the morning to do a good job. Do you want to be one of those people?”

“Finishing Mass Effect 2. Get out my way”

“Don’t you want to help Britain get back on their feet?”

“He just got me there. Look what you’ve done. *swears under breath*”

What with your little brother spending all night on his XBoxes and Facebooks (that social networking’s no replacement for real social networking, eh?), you knew his reaction would be a write-off. But it was a shame that your own mother had a similar response. Your mother was rolling her eyes and tutting as he described the tax on jobs, and you were about to agree and describe those wastrels on Jeremy Kyle, before he described how people don’t want to be on benefit handouts.

Eventually, she then caused a scene told him off about my embarrassing Uncle’s bad arm and how those unfeeling nurses at the assessment centre removed his Incapacity Benefit and how he’s been trying to find work ever since - “But ‘oo wants a builder wi’ a gammy arm?!”, she shrieked. Your boyfriend tried to calm her down, explain the benefits in place of doing worthwhile work other than placing money on rubbish horses, but she wouldn’t listen to some Tory who didn’t understand. He’s not a Tory, you wished to tell her, he’s my boyfriend.

And if he was, then call me Mrs Tory, you would say, before you would make your dramatic exit. You’ve seen your old classmates stuck in relationships with semi-literate slobs who whine about “forners” stealing the jobs that they can’t be arsed applying for, and consider how much better your life is. Yes, your boyfriend looks terrible in Superdry hoodies and confused Laura Marling with Ellie Goulding once at a barbecue, but you could have done a lot worse. As Tool Academy would have only reminded you, you got the boyfriend you deserve.