Tara springs merrily out of bed in anticipation for a big day of social media whorin’. She has been meticulously planning her “R U OK?” selfie for days and to top it off; she is part of the organising committee for the "R U OK?" morning tea at her workplace. Is she OK? Well, she's going to get a shit-ton of likes and gets to wear a cute dress around the office, so yeh, she's pretty fucking OK today.
Before she gets changed for work, she slips into a pair of anti-anxiety undies and a depression-fighting skimpy singlet. She then applies enough self-esteeming make-up and sets her phone to a ‘dry-ya-eyes’ filter to bring out her perfect eyebrows and skin tone. She positions her phone in the most uplifting angle and takes a “meet sexy singles in your area” selfie of narcissistic proportions. She uploads the shot to her respective social media accounts, “Depression is like a totes serious thing, so deffs have a chat about it #ruok #asksomeoneiftheyreok #today #nofilter #nomakeup #morningtea”.
Her usual fan base of desperado insta-masturbaters are quick to comment on how inspiring her selfie is. She has gained 22 likes in the first 10 minutes. How could anyone be feeling blue with those kind of stats! She slips into her megs lush dress and desperately hopes it will be the focal point of her morning tea conversation, oh and people being sad and shit. She peps through the office door like a one-woman Wham film clip and begins setting up the boardroom as if it was Melbourne Cup Day.
10 am rolls around, and a stampede of sausage-roll focused office bison break into the boardroom. The room is full of dry conversations in between gluttonous bites of free food. Being fab, Tara swoons around the morning tea with a champagne flute full of Orange C. She makes sure one of the younger office girls is ready to take a photo when she goes and asks the wirey IT guy whether or not he’s OK. “Hiiiii ken or dave, so are you ok?” A breathless rush of social anxiety floods through the quiet man as he uncomfortably grimaces under the camera's flash and Tara’s Colgate grin, “just fine thanks”.
Her job is done, and she prances over to the camera to check how good the photo is. She examines the photo and loves how caring she looks. She uploads it to her social media accounts and also the office page. She has exercised the most shallow “just the tip” compassion, and while it may be good for the ego-duck it is invasive to the anxious-gander. To make matters worse, she posted the exact moment she belittled a man’s problems and slopped it on social media like it was a fucking gay ol’ time.
Tara is high on insta-likes and decides to sink lower than the meth crater in Russ O’Callaghan’s kitchen. She posts a somber black and white selfie with slightly less cleavage, and starts typing likes the keys were made out of hardened bullshit, “even I feel sad some days, but you just have to pick yourself up, shake it off and be the change you want to see in the world, stay positive and you can achieve anything #ruok #positivity #lifeisaboutattitude #behappy”.
Shameless.
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