#eatclean

It's a well-known fact here that the "Perth city girl" stereotype is trying too hard; high heels, fake eyelashes, a lot of make-up and a generally stuck-up attitude which, as you can imagine, isn't quite my cup of tea. It takes a pretty special occasion for me to put anything more than moisturiser on my face and myself and Jess, who is of a similar mentality, always despair when we're out for lunch in the city and there are girls there who look like they're ready for a ball or something. After three months of feeling distinctly underdressed on the streets of Perth, I was looking forward to not having to make an effort to fit in down south, picturing a much more laid back style amongst the female species. Sadly, this was not the case. Granted, they may be kitted out in cut-offs and T-shirts, but this, my friends, is simply disguising the pretentious monsters that lurk berneath. They are just as obsessed with image as the Perth airheads and are avid fans of the "clean eating" fad currently tearing its way through Australia and the US. Basically, it's all a load of bollocks. Excuse my French.

Jess and I were tucking into our breakfast this morning when she got a text from Hayley inviting us to breakfast at Samudra, this über healthy café we went to yesterday afternoon for coffee. The first thing Jess had to say about it was that it was run by and frequented by snobby hippies, but the food was good and they had comfy sofas to lounge on. Walking through the door, we couldn't spot Hayley (who apparently has a reputation for being consistently late; a southern hemisphere version of Alana), so we settled ourselves on a sofa and had a giggle people watching all the posh mums and their irritating kids. We'd just given up waiting and ordered drinks when Hayley walked in with a yoga mat tucked under her arm. I met her last month when we went for an end-of-exams dinner and she's really lovely; she's from Zimbabwe, like Sian, and pretty cruisy. The same did not go for the group of girlfriends we were invited to go and sit with.

Goodness gracious me, what a bunch of idiots. First of all, they all looked identical and were wearing matching Lorna Jane yoga gear. While not instagramming photos of their food on their iPhones, they were either fiddling with their rubber bracelets that are supposed to give you inner strength or something, or coming out with pearls of wisdom such as this:

"Oh my god, that woman just got what I've ordered and it has, like, a whole half an avacado on it"
- Jeeeeesus, steady on, that must have at least 100 calories in it

"What's happened to this place, it was so good when they only did raw stuff"

"That many chia seeds is, like, your entire day's protein"

"Can I get my coffee with skimmed milk? Actually, no, soy milk. Actually, no, just black"
- Number one, 'can I get' is the worst phrase ever. Secondly, milk will not kill you

Jess made the excuse that she had to go to work (incorrect) and we just about made it out of earshot before bursting into tears of hysterical laughter; I thanked her countless times for rescuing us from the most painful interaction of my life. We left them to count the grams of carbohydrate in their scrambled tofu (not even kidding, they ordered that) and flushed our minds of this terrible ordeal by munching on a lunch of cold cuts, corn chips and guacamole and lying by the pool all afternoon. I thought women like that only existed in LA, so it was a little disappointing to discover their abundance in little old Dunsborough. Don't get me wrong, I like to watch what I eat (when it's not Christmas/December), but that level of psycho is just ridiculous. For me, the festive season might as well be renamed "Put on 5 kilos then resolve to lose it in January" and I like it that way. Stupid cows making the rest of us look bad! At least I can go to sleep tonight in the confidence that the friends I've chosen are as against it as I am.

The fat girls' end of the table