Little Miss Average

Average that's what she was, had always been. The average kid who was average at school. The average teenager, possibly a touch more responsible than her peers, but who still experimented with the latest fashion and make-up, and along with it nightclubs and alcohol. As an average young adult, she'd kept some of those habits up whilst holding down an average administrative job. She'd followed the set rules of home-commute-work-commute-home, as other averages had done before her, and like them saved her salary for her 'BIG NIGHTS OUT'. A Saturday, once a month with the girls. She became a member of a gym and added it to her schedule as if she were revising for an exam. It could not be put off, it had to be done. Every single day. Averagely, although she would strive for sweaty perfection. Pound away stress on the treadmill or cross-trainer; immerse herself in dance classes, forget about those around her and perform.
A baptism of rhythm and music.
A hamster exercising in a wheel, in a cage.
Too average to stand out from the crowd, as she didn't have a lot to say nor did she ever think to push herself forwards. She was just getting on with the average status quo. No burning ambition, no drive. A pastel shade of wallpaper that you might find in any average home. Magnolia. A pale English rose. With average looks and the average height for a woman. An average build. Typically blue eyed, but not typically blonde.
As you get older, the more average you become.
And so it was with her.
In her mid-30s the average looks were faded, nature gradually stripping them away, but by this point she had stopped being merely average. She owned an average apartment, but paid below-average bills, and had opted out of the average marriage with the average kids. She refused to be Mrs Average, preferring to remain little Miss.
She now avoided the gym, but still did the average daily fitness – a combination of average yoga with average pilates - with lots of walking thrown in as she refused to learn to drive the average car. Her average feet, she claimed, were made for walking! Her weekends were full of the average domestic chores: food shopping, laundry and cleaning; the evenings saved for the average television viewing in the ratings war. Her social life was about average for her age, far less boisterous than it had been in her youthful days, and the venues had changed to cafés, restaurants and cultural settings.
Average she was still in appearance, but not in her attitude to paid work. She passed up opportunities that failed to meet her exacting requirements, that didn't give her essential 'ME' time. Time to volunteer, to read, to write, to learn, to create, to reflect. Some might complain she was inflexible, but the balance for her had to be just right. Rigor mortis in regards to compromising on this had already set in, which meant her mind was years ahead of her average peers and older generations.
But despite this growing intolerance for the hustle and bustle of life, she's still your average person: nice. Although there are days when little Miss Average has a little more bite.
A hamster freed from its cage to trundle around in a clear, minuscule plastic ball.