My Life Gone Viral Read online

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  To Kevin & Katherine 9-5 vegetable kind of people With thanks for The Land of Lost Content

  #FelineFash

  It was the hot dog that did it. Definitely.

  Generally, you can’t have your cat wearing something made of pork on its head without people asking some serious questions about your life. If your pet has ever worn your lunch, you’ll know what I mean. It’s a game changer.

  The thing is, eating is difficult when you’re thinking hard. You just trust your body to do its chewy thing. The problem was my jaw had kind of skipped after my brain and checked into Hotel La-La Land. My mouth and eyes really didn’t notice that an entire frankfurter had somersaulted from a bun. I just kept chomping on the carbs, staring into space whilst my cat did a runway show into the kitchen with some seriously avant-garde headgear.

  I only noticed when Mum said, “Millie. Dave is modeling your dinner. Any thoughts?”

  Then she gave one of her “all-seeing oracle” parental looks. You know the sort of thing. The “I know you’re worried about something but you’re not telling me because you’re too worried and now I’m worried and basically THIS IS A GLOBAL WORRY PANDEMIC” kind of looks.

  My mum can tell a lot from a half-a-second stare. It’s her special talent. Face reading, guilt-tripping, and getting things out of you that you don’t want to talk about. I think the FBI needs her. She’d crack anyone in minutes.

  I tried to get her off my case by asking her if she’d managed to get her phone out and record Dave doing her thing for a vlog but Mum said, “No. Creating great content is of no concern to me. It’s even less of a concern to me when I think my little girl might be working herself up into a state about things.”

  There was another epic “drill into my brain” gaze, but at that point Dave sashayed back into the room with a sausage behind her. Mum was distracted, mainly because Dave looked like she should be on the cover of Vogue. You’ve never seen a cat work it with such total conviction. She was Gigi Hadid, but with a tail and a flea collar.

  I took my chance then. “I need to go and get my stuff from Dad’s place,” I snapped very quickly. That’s your only hope in a situation like this. Deflecting.

  Mum kept looking at Dave, but said firmly, “Okay, Millie, but when you come back we need an honest chat. Anxiety doesn’t just steal sausages. It’s a thief of your time and your happiness. And it’s something…”

  At that moment Dave jumped onto my lap and dropped a gherkin into my palm. I didn’t know I’d lost that, either.

  Yes, Mum. We can have a chat. I just need to get things straight in MY head first. And that may take a while. In fact, it may take forever.

  But I didn’t say that to her. I just gave her a hug, threw Dave the rest of my hot dog bun, and left. Dave loves buns. We call bread “sliced cat-bohydrate” in our house.

  I’ve just realized I’m still holding the gherkin. Random sliced gherkins in your hand usually mean something is not quite right with the world. Let me try to explain what. I don’t think it makes me sound very nice, but it’s the truth.

  #lifefacts

  When I’m on my own and walking I can think. My feet are smarter than my jaw; they can do their job really well without me worrying about them. When people ask me what my favorite part of my body is I ALWAYS say my legs. It’s not how they look (quite skinny calves, BIG thighs, freaky tall toes I’ve inherited from Dad), it’s what they do.

  My brain needs some love, you can tell. It’s like when you accidentally leave your glass underneath the Coke dispenser and then you get distracted by a cute dog outside (don’t tell Dave). You look around and, all of a sudden, you’re creating a mini Niagara Falls. I’m like that. I’m overflowing with everything.

  Mum, who has a head like mine, says at times when you feel like your brain is about to burst, write down the facts. Not the things you think might happen. JUST the facts. You don’t need a laptop, a phone, or a pen. You doodle it all down in your head.

  I’m moving back in with my mum and her neat freak boyfriend, Gary. I moved out a few months ago because he made my life impossible, as he wants to ban dust and grime globally. Also, my mum can be a dictator. A benevolent and low-level one, but she still has some power-hungry tendencies. However, NOW we’ve agreed to compromise. I will try to keep my room clean (well, clean-ISH), stop making epic biscuit crumb bombs (Gary’s description, NOT mine) and stop Dave from surfing on Gary’s robot vacuum cleaner (impossible. Dave is a speed freak, a celebrity stunt cat, and fears no one and nothing—not even surprise frankfurters). I’m looking forward to it. I’ve missed my mum. YES, she’s too strict, but she’s basically a feminist warrior with epic taste in ankle boots. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve loved living with my dad, Granddad, and Aunty Teresa. It’s been great getting to know Dad a bit more. He’s been in other countries for a lot of my life, and I do feel like I’ve missed out. Aunty Teresa has also been living abroad in a way—just in her head on her own planet. I think Granddad has really enjoyed having me around. He may be an epic sexist stuck in the last century, but he appreciates my streak of sensible. I love all of them, but I’d like to be in a house with an actual lock on the front door that works. It’s also difficult to watch TV when two people in their forties are having a danceoff to Bruno Mars. I just want more … order. Yes, I’m tragic. I like things on the quiet side and it’s difficult to get peace when Aunty Teresa’s fixer-upper ice cream truck is playing “Pop Goes the Weasel” in the front yard. Also, my dresser is an exercise bike that no one uses. So, yes, I’d like something a bit more … normal. I will miss them, though. It’s good to know some adults stay a bit silly and don’t think that having a clean kitchen sink is the peak of their existence. Gary’s permanent aftershave is a mixture of Versace for Men and white vinegar.

  I have a boyfriend. Danny. It took a while for us to get together. I was confused or he was. We BOTH were, I guess. It all got a bit weird BUT now we are an official trademarked item. He’s funny, kind, and completely owns his own brand of Canadian handsomeness. He also has a pencil case in the shape of a llama and he doesn’t care what anyone thinks. Nothing ever seems to faze him. He’s permanently chill—like a gorgeous refrigerator but with warm arms. In the past few weeks he’s been incredible because honestly, with everything that’s been going on, things have been stressful. Danny is phenomenal at just making things seem manageable. He’s an accidental life coach. You give him a mountain and he makes it feel like a tiny hill (in the good way). I’ve really appreciated that AND I am NOT being a pathetic girl. I’ve just needed good friends who make me laugh—and he does. He’s also an epic kisser. Yeah, Danny is almost perfect. Except for liking noodles with too much garlic, but I’ve learned to live with that. Extra-strong mints are our friend.

  This is the hard one. I’ll just try to say it quickly.

  I can’t say it quickly. Who am I kidding? This is BIG.

  I went viral. Well, me and Dave the c
at went viral. She went crazy behind me when I was doing a really personal vlog and now we’ve got real human followers and someone who manages “life content creators” (why do these people always use fancy names?) wants to meet me to discuss how she can help me become “even bigger.” Lauren, my BFF, thinks this is wonderful. Erin, previously known as Lady Uber Cool who was sensationally outed as the person behind the most EVIL Instagram account EVER, suddenly wants to be besties with me. My granddad is a tiny bit impressed even though he has no idea what it all means. I was just another rando recording videos in a shed and now, because of a bizarre feline accident, I’m big. And it’s what I want. I’m viral and I want to keep being viral. Mum gets it. She says this is AMBITION and an acknowledgment of my innate skill set and I should EMBRACE it. I want to be a success. It is FINE to say that. Viral. It’s everything I wanted and it’s EVERYTHING I want but now that it’s happened …

  I’ll be really honest with you. It’s all got a bit intense. The truth is, I’m having trouble coping with this whole “being quite great all the time” thing.

  What I’ve found out is that I can cope with being useless. That sounds insane, I KNOW, but it’s sort of fine to me. Even dreadful, crushing defeat and “throw my lunch all over the cafeteria whilst everyone watches and then applauds” mistakes. I just go to my special Zen Loo cubicle for five minutes, take some deep breaths, and start again. But success? Success is HARD. I now understand why celebrities do wild stuff when they get even a tiny bit famous. It’s ODD when people you don’t know like you. The whole world is applauding you and telling you you’re brilliant, but inside you don’t feel any different to how you felt a week ago. You just want to say “Dear World. I’m still the same Millie. I haven’t got a clue what I’m doing and I don’t know what I’m going to do next either and what if it all goes wrong and…”

  I’m taking deep breaths. HUGE ones. Mum told me she used to be this way. It’s anxiety. She learned to manage it. So can I.

  I know what you’re thinking, because I’d be thinking the same. Millie, shouldn’t you be in Vegas with a massive billboard and lots of backup dancers in sequined leotards? Because YOU have become a diva with a capital D in big lights. What a brat. What’s up with me?! It’s like when people post a selfie of themselves crying. Liam Whitehead did one when his skateboard lost its wheel. It’s good to see a guy comfortable with his full-on emotions, but we felt total sympathy for him anyway! We didn’t need a photo of his big red face with a filter that made him look like a really angry opossum with conjunctivitis.

  Like Liam’s crazy eye, this is probably something I shouldn’t share with anyone because everyone will just start screaming STOP BEING AN ATTENTION SEEKER!

  I KNOW this situation is wonderful. THIS IS ACTUALLY ALL A DREAM. If this were a film, I just would have run off to a massive piece of music, all smiles after a big Danny kiss, epic filter, skin LUMINOUS, probably riding a unicorn.

  But this is real life and I’m waiting for disaster. In my sort of movie I’m the person shouting on the beach that the tsunami is heading straight for us. Everyone else ignores me and carries on sunbathing and eating fries.

  And when the tsunami finally arrives, it’s just a tiny wave that knocks over one beach parasol and slightly splashes a lifeguard.

  I need to sort myself out. And fast. What I’m doing isn’t wrong. Influencers need to be sure of themselves. It’s feminist to go after what you want. It’s basically being Beyoncé and she can do no wrong. At times like this, I need my Jay-Z.

  #WearATree

  Danny’s mum likes me. I can tell. When she opens the front door she basically drags me in and smiles from ear to ear. “Oh! Here she is! The acceptable face of cat lady!” she shouts. I think Mrs. Trudeau is also relieved, as Danny’s last serious girlfriend was mainly mascara-based and there’s only so long you can talk about lash length. “Millie!” she whispers. “He’s upstairs! Tell him that he needs to pack SOMETHING. He can’t JUST wear branches. However much he’d like to.”

  This makes no sense, but the Trudeau household often doesn’t. It’s a bit out there.

  When I get to Danny’s room he’s looking at an empty bag.

  “Hello, Mills! What do you pack for a holistic spa weekend? I’m thinking hardly anything. I might just wear foliage!”

  I stare at him. “Yeah, your mum is worried about that. I don’t think branches will work for you. When are you going?”

  Danny looks at me with a slightly folded-up face. “Er. Tomorrow. Did I not mention it?”

  “No, you didn’t,” I say casually. My mouth is casual. In my brain, I am not casual in any way. I am annoyed. This is Danny. I love that he’s so relaxed, but sometimes this means he lives in an extreme chill bubble. He forgets to tell me key details about his life. It’s not that he doesn’t care, he just floats around the earth a lot. It’s Aunty Teresa disease—just a less severe case.

  Danny puts his arm around me. “You’re annoyed,” he says. “I can tell.”

  Danny isn’t intimidated by strong women, so I serve it up in a brilliant but not hysterical way.

  “It would be nice to know where you are going to be. I do actually like spending some time with you. I’m not being overdramatic. I just love having a laugh with you. And you get the vlog thing even though you don’t really get the vlog thing.”

  Danny isn’t really into social media. He can check his phone twice a day and not be completely itchy about it.

  “Sorry, Mills.” Danny sighs. “Fair enough. Now, do you think I can just get away with a handful of leaves and some mud?”

  He says this with a wink. He makes me laugh a lot. However, at times like this, I can feel my no-nonsense mum invading my brain and it’s fantastic.

  “I’m not organizing your wardrobe for you. Pay me to be your stylist and I’ll help. Until then you’re on your own.”

  “Anyway,” I say, “I’ve got to go and see my family.”

  Danny hugs me very hard and we have a superb kiss. We have perfected this. We’re A-list kissers. “Have a great weekend!” he whispers. “Be you. Be brilliant and go for it. Do a fantastic vlog about bad boyfriends who don’t tell their partners where they are going. That’ll go viral. Actually, don’t do that. I’d rather keep out of it, really. BUT GO VIRAL! Whatever, just BE YOU.”

  This is why Danny and I work. He gets me and he gives me an ego turbo-boost. I sort of skip all the way to Granddad’s house. It’s not exactly a skip, as that would be highly embarrassing as I’m not actually seven, but it’s a very positive stompy walk.

  #CallTeresa

  When I get to Granddad’s house, Aunty Teresa answers the door. I ask her what she is doing. Rule number one for a calm life: NEVER ask Aunty Teresa what she is doing.

  “Ermm. We are mostly doing goat noises and listing people we’d like on our dartboard of hate,” she says, like it’s the most totally normal thing in the world.

  “And how does that work?” I ask. I never learn. Rule number two: Don’t ask for details.

  Aunty Teresa drags me into the front room. My dad is there standing over a homemade target, which has a big red bull’s-eye marked THE WORST in the middle of it. He gives me a huge hug.

  “Millie,” he says proudly, “behold the greatest advance in stress relief ever! You simply pin all the things you can’t stand onto this, and then you throw darts at it.”

  I read what Aunty Teresa and Dad have written on it.

  Noisy eaters

  People who post a sad face on Facebook so everyone writes “Are you okay, Hun?”—JUST TELL US WHAT IS ACTUALLY WRONG!

  People who walk slowly in the mall. I’m shopping. MOVE!

  Seahorses

  “What’s up with seahorses?” I ask.

  Aunty Teresa looks at me like I’ve asked something incredibly stupid. “Well, you can’t ride them, and all they do is float around looking pretty. I want more from my marine creatures. Look at sharks! They bring DRAMA!”

  “But male seahorses can gi
ve birth!” I tell her. I’ve been googling a lot. Lauren and I have fact wars. This is mainly because Lauren thinks she can go on game shows with all her knowledge and become very rich very quickly. For her, the weirder the fact the better. The bizarre thing is, trivia also really helps me manage my stress. When my brain is worrying what the capital of Bhutan is, it’s not full of anxiety about other stuff I can’t control.

  “Pregnant fish men! Fake news!” Teresa says. And I have to google this fact to prove it to her. She makes her “massively amazed” face where her nose accordions into her forehead and she practically dislocates her skull. “Right,” she shouts, “seahorses are off and goats are back on.”

  My dad looks outraged and hollers, “NO! Think of the cheese!”

  Aunty Teresa pounces on him and they start wrestling on the floor. They don’t notice as I leave for the kitchen. Granddad is standing there mopping the floor. He seems like he’s in another world. I say “Hi” to him, but he just carries on cleaning. I wave madly in his direction. When he’s tuned out, this is the only thing that ever works.

  “Oh, hello, superstar,” he finally says. He’s called me “superstar” since all this going-viral stuff happened. I don’t really like it, but this is Granddad trying to be sweet. He doesn’t normally believe in compliments. He thinks they make you arrogant and according to him there are few things worse than a “big-headed female.” Yes, he is sexist as he’s ancient and most people were back then. Women used to be sexist to themselves! I make allowances for my grandpa. He’s family.

  “Sorry, Millie,” he says, “I was in a world of my own. I do my best thinking when I’m mopping. Once you are used to the nature of the job, your body does one thing and it frees your mind to ponder the complexities of the universe.”