Dear Diary,
Another beautiful day of being a successful businesswoman.
And by “successful businesswoman,” I mean I am currently surrounded by approximately 400 pairs of knickers, three rolls of parcel tape and a cup of coffee I made two hours ago and have reheated twice.
Living the dream.
People imagine running your own business means sitting in a lovely office, drinking coffee and casually checking how much money you've made.
It does not.
At Knicker HQ, I am the CEO, warehouse manager, customer service department, photographer, social media manager, cleaner, accountant and woman crawling around on the floor looking for the size 14 black briefs I KNOW I PUT SOMEWHERE.
This morning started with orders.
Lovely.
We like orders.
Orders pay bills.
So I'm happily packing away until I realise I've somehow created what can only be described as a knicker explosion.
There are pants everywhere.
On the table.
On the chair.
In boxes.
On the floor.
At this point, if someone broke into the house, they'd probably take one look around, quietly close the door and decide I already have enough problems.
Then comes stock counting.
There is something quite humbling about counting 47 pairs of thongs before you've even had lunch.
“38… 39… 40…”
Phone rings.
Answer phone.
Return to stock.
“…27… 28…”
FOR F%$K'S SAKE.
Start again.
This is entrepreneurship.
Not yachts.
Not champagne.
Just repeatedly counting knickers because somebody interrupted you.
And, of course, throughout all of this I'm checking the website.
Any new orders?
Refresh.
No.
Five minutes later.
Refresh.
Still no.
Ten minutes later.
Refresh.
OH! AN ORDER!
Suddenly I'm Alan Sugar.
Business is booming.
Retirement at 50 is back on.
Then I remember postage, stock costs, packaging, fees and approximately 700 other things that need paying.
Retirement has been postponed.
Possibly indefinitely.
But despite the chaos, the knickers, the parcels and occasionally wondering why I didn't choose a nice sensible career where somebody else pays me every Friday...
I bloody love it.
Mostly.
Ask me again tomorrow.
Anyway, Diary, I'd better go.
I've got orders to pack.
And somewhere in this building...
there is a missing pair of size 14 black briefs.
And I WILL find them.