I’m a little unsure what moniker she’s going by at the moment – Sasha Fierce, Mrs Carter or plain old Beyoncé, but she is one polished, mega superstar. When I’m sitting on my couch in my pj bottoms, jumper (sans bra) and toe socks (see photo below) I know that my life couldn’t be any further from Beyoncé’s Vogue life. Yet, I often turn her music on and dance around slapping my own arse and waving my hand back and forth.
Here’s a few tell tale signs we live very different lives:
You see, when she is probably settling down to a back massage with a trained professional, I spend a lot of my time trying to coerce my children into scratching my back.
While her team of beauticians apply tiny diamonds onto each perfectly sculptured nail, I am manically applying a coat of black polish, over two tatty red coats of polish, to my nibbled nails while I sit in the car on my way to dinner.
As she slips her smooth legs into silky stockings, I’m busily shaving my ankles, and wearing pants, so no-one can tell I haven’t shaved the rest of me for months.
When she sings, thousands of people cheer and some cry. When I sing, my children plead with me to stop and sometimes they cry.
If Beyoncé gets a scratch on her Louis Vuittons she just gets a new pair. Meanwhile, I get out a black texta to fill in the mark on my pair of much-loved boots.
She would also not need to Google Louis Vuitton to see how it’s spelt. She would just look in her phone’s contact list.
Her husband is a hip hop mogul, unlike mine who thinks he is when he’s had a few.
When she decides to get a haircut, there’s a media release and hours spent in the salon. When I decide to get a new fringe I cut it with kid’s craft scissors in my bathroom and then post a selfie on Twitter.
She has a private jet, luxury boat, numerous holiday homes and chauffeur driven prestige limos. I get a thrill out of fare invasion on my local tram.
While she floats in her pre-prepared bubble bath, before popping on her french lace g-string and slipping on her Chanel dress, I’m spraying my jeans crotch with perfume to mask their unwashed smell.
And that my friends is why Beyonce and I are not similar.