You'd think that perfection would be a noble pursuit. A goal worth striving for. But let's be real, folks, it's just a never-ending cycle of self-doubt and anxiety. You'll never be enough. You'll never be perfect. So why bother?
Take, for example, the art of making toast. It's a perfect storm of imperfections: the bread may be unevenly toasted, the cheese might not be melted to your liking, and don't even get me started on the crust.
And don't even get me started on relationships. You'll find yourself constantly nitpicking every little thing your partner does, from their breathing pattern to their socks. It's a never-ending battle to be the most perfect, most superior being.
So what's the solution? Is it just to give up and accept that we're all just a hot mess of imperfections? Or is it to find a new standard of excellence, one that's based on, I don't know, the joy of mediocrity?