Perfection

She sighed as she scrolled down the page of her Instagram feed. Maggie was at another café, with a picture perfect meal. She gasped. Gees! Those weights Harry said he was lifting at the gym were massive! Their mate 'Wheels' had another panoramic scope on the road from his latest road trip afventure. Whit sat there and stared at them, sinking lower in her chair. Why couldn't she be like them? Why couldn't she have the perfect life instead of being miserable here.

A message from Mad, her best friend, popped up on her screen. Want to come  hang out? Whitney say and stared at it a while. "Just do it, Whit." Whitney jumped at her mother's voice behind her. Whitney turned around to get a better look at her. "You've only got one life, Whit. Please tell me you're not going to waste it pining after perfection."
"I was just trying to figure out how my life could be the same."
"It won't be, not ever."
Whitney's mouth fell open as a disbelieving sigh escaped her lips.
"They're all filtering their lives, and posting only the tiny, 'perfect' elements to actually share with the world. They probably save them up for weeks and just post at regular intervals. To try and mirror it will just make you miserable."

Whitney looked back at her phone in her hand, still open to Instagram. A smile flickered across her lips for a brief moment before it disappeared.
"Honestly, darling, they're probably just as miserable." Whitney opened her mouth to protest, but her mother hadn't finished yet. "They just don't realise." Her mother walked around and perched herself carefully on the edge of the arm of Whitney's chair, looking once again at her daughter. "I know Mad's been wanting to hang out with you for ages now. So go do it! Go live your life instead of pretending to!"

So, Whitney went out to meet Mad. Mostly because her mother had told her to, but it was always fun with her, and Whitney had missed hanging out with her. On their adventures hanging out by the waterfront, the spotted Maggie, Mad's twin sister. Maggie's Instagram post from that morning, a picture of a supposedly flawless salad, flashed in Whitney's mind. She looked over at her again. The sight that greeted her eyes was a stark contrast to the glimpse that had been posted that morning.

Now, Maggie sat, leaning up against a pole on the edge of the make-shift café, a wooden box cradled in her lap, presumably filled with chips or something else deep-fried and not necessarily completely perfect. Maggie seemed sad as she looked down at her meal, disappointed and maybe a little guilty too.

Mad followed Whitney's gaze to see her sister sitting there. "She's like that," Mad said, her tone one that said she was used to it. "I don't know why she buys it if all she's going to do is stare glumly at it."
"I'd eat it!" Whitney's mouth watered at the mere thought of the irresistibly warm, soft, salty taste in her mouth. Her stomach grumbled at the thought of it's deliciously appealing aroma. "Should we go relieve her of the burden?"
Mad sighed. "I've tried that before. She always just seems to want to hold them. They'll go to the birds eventually."

"But why doesn't Maggie eat them herself? I' mean, how can she resist?"
"She's more concerned with looking 'perfect'," said Mad, setting the last word in quotation marks. "As if there is such a thing."
 Well, Whitney thought, maybe Mum was right. Perfection is pretend
"Maggie's the one who's missing out," said Mad. "Who's having more fun? Her, pretending perfection, or us, living lie?"
"Us," said Whitney firmly, glancing at Mad. "Definitely us."