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All the girls we’ve been

The fresh executive

It’s your first job without ‘assistant’ in the title. This is IT. You are IT. The past is in the past, no more coming in late, going to festivals every weekend and returning to the office/earth swivel-eyed with dirty hair. You eat quinoa for lunch and go into Jigsaw in your lunch break instead of Topshop and finger all the navy trousers. You get a Moleskine diary (hey this was before Google Calendar guys) and sniff it on the bus.

The break-up denier

So the reason he hasn’t phoned for two weeks is that he is on holiday in the South of France (nothing strange there) and he has accidentally tripped and fallen into a well and is trapped. That’s why you keep phoning to see if he’s OK and that’s why he’s not calling you back. Shame. (My heart still slightly breaks for that girl we were.)

The addict-lite

It’s completely normal to not be able to leave the house without a shot of vodka, right? And to not be able to sleep without taking something: Benadryl, Xanax, anti-histamine, Night Nurse. I mean who sleeps? No one sleeps. And we are all anxious as anything, so what if we need a little crutch/sharpener every now and then? And no you didn’t drink all two bottles of rose while watching Sex and the City. It’s summer and it’s hot; there was loads of ice in your glass. Everything is fine. You are fine. *shivers*

The escapologist

You are done with towns. You are done with London. If you have to sit on the tube for one more minute going to a job that you hate, you will scream. *thinks to self, ‘When was I last happy?’* Dimly remembers a time when you went to Dorset and went crabbing (you were 7). You were happy then. So you hit Zoopla hard. “Look at that creamy cottage with the lilac and the orchard. I could be happy again.” You do nothing. (Unless you do and then here are your adventures in Nowhere).

The lust lunatic

Yes he’s married/bald/obnoxious/bit of a dick. But oh my god the sex. The sex. You cannot think straight. You just want to have sex with him. All the time. Can’t remember your own name/friends/pets/responsibilities/moral code. Can’t do anything but have sex. You are lit by a SEX FIRE. Until La Repulsion [that feeling of utter revulsion at the person touching you] suddenly descends. Some people call it ‘The Ick’. Maybe you were in an ill-advised candle-lit bath with him at the time. Whatever, just like that you are free. The fire is out.

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