I bought myself flowers last weekend, a bunch of both orange and pink lillies, and it felt all kinds of indulgent and wonderful and they’ve put a smile on my face all week.
When we got back from our honeymoon – more to come on that – our living room looked empty due to the fact that my mum was kindly looking after our pet bunny, Lilly. Her cage and all of the toys/crap/fluff that goes with it had left a huge gap in the middle of our room.
Bored of having Lilly’s cage dominating the room we decided to give our furniture a quick rearrange, moving our dining table into the gap where her cage had been. One broken chair later – I’m a klutz – and we have a living space that not only looks bigger, but one where the bunny has more space. Also, if you’re sitting on the sofa, you can’t even see her pen at all. Brilliant.
This spiralled into a mass clear out phase where I spent my Saturday night tidying our shelving unit. Rock and roll grandma over here y’all.
The only thing missing was a burst of colour against all the grey. So I decided to swoop in the supermarket after getting my hair cut and coloured – buh bye sun-bleached, damaged ends – and saw these lillies in the bargain bucket. £4 later, and they were mine.
They make me grin like a Cheshire cat every time I pass them in all their glory. They smell great. They look great, all clashing and proud. And most importantly, they make me feel great. Which is why I’m pledging to buy them more regularly for myself. Because I deserve to indulge in the small things that give me pleasure. And so do you.