AN ASIDE

I'm so bored of "fashion". It's everywhere I look. It's all anyone talks or thinks or cares about.

We spend so much time planning our outfits, fixing our hair, painting our nails, etc., before we venture into the outside world. But, what would happen if, instead, we spent that time planning how to start interesting conversation?

It strikes me that it is when we are vulnerable, unsure and insecure that the superficial things matter most. So, does this mean we are an entire generation of vulnerable women? Women who base our worth on the condition of our skin as opposed to our intellectual capacity? Are we women who admire each other more for our ability to keep our wardrobes up to date with Vogue magazine than to make one another laugh? I sincerely hope not. What chance would the next generation, our daughters, have being brought into the world by women racked with self-doubt?

In the words of my very wise Father; "There is no material or physical asset on the requirements list for being a kind, interesting, lovely person. "

And that, dear Readers, is all that really matters.

A BRIEF INTRODUCTION

We've all been there. That feeling like you're walking on air. Cheeks aching from constant smiling. The feeling of airiness from within. It is the elation of infatuation that seeps through every pore of our bodies and every iota of our souls. Sometimes it last merely a day, sometimes we're left swimming in its hazy euphoria for weeks, even months.

One factor remains the same, however; The uncontrollable desire to tell someone. Anyone. Everyone.

Our friends, family, work colleagues all bare the brunt of our endless outpourings. Details of the first date, the second date, the kiss, the sex... Gradually, (or in some cases rapidly), the recipients tire of the incessant gushing but, drowning in new-partner-intoxication, we barely notice.

But, what happens when, due to some circumstance or other, you can't tell anyone. Not even your Mother. When you can't even acknowledge to your nearest and dearest friends that you're even considering such relations with the party concerned, let alone confess you're buzzing from the post-date cocktail of nerves, excitement and anticipation? For if you were to even let slip the most remote possibility of the aforementioned, the consequences could be catastrophic.

Reader, I can assure you, the feelings described in the above are not dampened by such circumstances. They are heightened, intensified but, accompanied by guilt, over analysis and fear.

My name is X and this is exactly the predicament I find myself in. So, where a written diary that no-one but myself can access has failed, a public (and anonymous) account of our love affair will hopefully succeed in satisfying my girlish desire to scream it, shout it and tell it to the world - I am completely, utterly, infinitely infatuated with Him.

Welcome to The X Girlfriend Archive.