Day in the life of Scruffy Muff
11:47 AM – Wake up in a puddle of own sweat, wrapped in a crusty duvet cover that last saw a washing machine during lockdown. No sheet. No pillowcase. Just vibes and body odour. Michelle’s already up, reading the latest Tattle thread and reconsidering her life choices.
12:06 PM – Shuffle into the kitchen, scratch a, sniff fingers, declare:
“This is what high-performance looks like.”
Michelle winces. I tell her she’s just “intimidated by greatness.”
12:30 PM – Reheat a meal prep burrito that’s been in the fridge for 9 days. Microwave it until one end is frozen and the other end is charcoal. Bite in anyway. Post it to Instagram with “Tastes better than any takeaway, FACT.”
1:15 PM – Log into five burner accounts named things like @ShredWithDave1991 and @AlphaMindsetMike to comment “diabetes incoming” on women’s TikToks. Feel powerful. Screenshot one crying and send it to Michelle. She says nothing.
2:00 PM – Gym time. Sit in an old dusty basement gym that smells like rust and Lynx Africa. Equipment from the 70s. Walk slowly on a treadmill at incline 1. Film myself looking breathless. Caption:
“Cardio king. Mind over matter. No excuses.”
Wipe sweat off camera, not face.
3:30 PM – Come home, eat another burnt burrito, this one has actual foil melted inside. Call it “extra crunch.” Film Michelle saying it’s nice, then tell her off-camera she needs to “work on her delivery.”
4:45 PM – Post a quote graphic:
“You either win or you’re large.”
Spell “you’re” wrong. Delete and repost. Spell it wrong again. Leave it.
6:00 PM – Dinner: dry mince in a takeaway tub with a spoon so bent it looks like it’s been in a car crash. Michelle asks for sauce. I say, “Sauce is for the weak.” She eats in silence.
7:30 PM – Q&A time:
• Q: “What’s your qualification?”
• A: “I once lost 3 stone in 2019. Still living off the glory.”
• Q: “Do you think your relationship is healthy?”
• A: “Absolutely. Michelle agrees, don’t you babe?”
Michelle stares into the void with dead eyes.
9:00 PM – Scroll comments. Block 23 women, call 4 of them “Karens,” accuse one of having “diabetic ankles” for saying my food looks dry. Tell a guy to “up his mindset, not his insulin.”
10:15 PM – Watch YouTube videos titled “How to Be a Billionaire” while eating burnt chicken and a packet of Uncle Ben’s. Michelle says the house smells like regret. I tell her it’s the scent of winners.
11:59 PM – Back to the crusty duvet cover. No brushing teeth. No skincare. No introspection. Just dreams of protein partnerships, blocked exes, and Michelle finally clapping with passion.
