Wednesday 28 September 2016

Mission Kim possible - achieving peace at home

It must be so much easier to achieve peace at home, says Julia Molony, when you're Kardashian-rich

Published 02/05/2016 | 02:30

Kim Kardashian is seen on August 24, 2015 in Los Angeles, California. (Photo by Bauer-Griffin/GC Images)
Kim Kardashian is seen on August 24, 2015 in Los Angeles, California. (Photo by Bauer-Griffin/GC Images)
Julia Moloney

Last year when I was pregnant, Kim Kardashian was my celebrity pregnancy twin. By which I mean that she was a famous person who, at the time, was at roughly the same stage of gestation as I was - give or take a week or two.

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Naturally, I followed her progress closely. As celebrity pregnancy twins go, Kim was a good one to have. By the late stages, she looked like a sofa stuffed in a stocking. This is reassuring to the pregnant woman. I have a friend whose celebrity pregnancy twin was Kate Middleton. She was taunted daily by the only female in history to get through the whole reproductive debacle without, apparently, changing her dress size, losing any muscle tone or even breaking a sweat.

At least Kim was decent enough to squash her swollen ankles into strappy sandals and let them be photographed, in all their bloated glory, by the tabloid media. It was a cheering sight for pregnant females everywhere.

The pregnancies (mine and Kim's) are over now. But my thoughts have, nonetheless, turned to her many times since. Each time someone in my house has an exhaustion-mediated meltdown (it's usually either me or the baby) or a fit of resentful fury because they are the only one in the house who seems to know how to work a hoover, or, for that matter, a mop (me), I find myself wondering wistfully if Kim and Kanye are also dealing with similar problems.

Of course they aren't. They probably have a member of staff specifically designated to the uniquely fiddly task of folding up babygros. So I'm not really wondering, more wishfully thinking. Because, apart from being up the duff at roughly the same time, there the similarities between myself and Madame Kardashian end.

How much easier, I often think, this whole phase of life would be, if all of the drudge work, the mundane household maintenance, could be dispatched with the tinkle of a tiny golden bell, or by whatever manner celebrities use to summon their staff. It's the simple, innocuous-seeming things - such as a pile of dirty dishes in the sink, a piece of Ikea furniture that needs to be assembled, or a bathroom drain plugged up with hair and gunge - that, when you're already feeling stretched (literally and metaphorically) can feel like they might break either your relationship, or your will to live.

Which is why it remains a mystery to me that celebrity marriages seem so much more likely not to last the distance than normal ones. It's well known that couples come to strife most often over housework and money. It's the basic, banal, workaday stuff: the socks and pants discarded on the floor, the competitive complaining about who can possibly be the more exhausted (me again, obviously) which really threaten the peace. And when you take those familiar conflict zones out of the equation, what, honestly, do the likes of Gwyn and Chris, or Ben Affleck and Jennifer Garner, have left to argue about?

I imagine they must have to think up really obscure and arcane things, such as choosing the wrong filter on an Instagram feed, or breaking a juice fast, or perhaps dressing inappropriately for breakfast.

OK, there's infidelity, obviously; the classic, cliched marriage wrecker. But even that seems a fairly lightweight, feeble excuse, or, at the very least, more of a symptom than a cause. If you're not ground-down by resentment and exhaustion, surely you've plenty of energy for dirty weekends away, date nights and keeping the flame alive?

So far at least, Kim and Kanye seem to be happily in love, as far as the world can tell. There doesn't seem to be any signs on the horizon of impending conscious uncoupling for Kimye. And, as for me, I remain convinced that Kardashian-style privileges would sort out any ongoing tension in my house pretty sharpish.

To transform me from griping harpy back into human form wouldn't take much. Just a private butler and a good long sleep.

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