I found an old diary a few years ago that I wrote in religiously when I was about fourteen. Reading it was particularly difficult – not just because what I had to say at fourteen was incredibly glib and embarrassing – it was how I said it. You seriously couldn’t blame anyone for thinking, even at a glance at its dog-eared pages, that I was, well, desperate! And here I am, twenty years later, bearing my soul again, in what feels just slightly like a more advanced version of my padlocked blue and orange Snoopy diary from 1987. Sigh.
But, (never start a sentence with ‘but’ – my mother taught me that – sorry mum. ‘Butt’ on the other hand is quite okay), here I am nevertheless, Snoopyless, but feeling vulnerable all the same. Why am I here? For my book, really. That’s what life has become now, just ask my fiancée, he’ll tell you: life is the book. If we talk about anything other than the book, it’s not for long and it’s while I’m holding any given number of pages from the book in my lap as I patiently wait for the conversation to come back to … the book. Sad? Yes, I guess it is considering we’re getting married in 5 months and I’m supposed to be thinking about flowers and bows and catering and shoes and sugar and spice and all things nice. A friend asked me yesterday how the the wedding plans were coming along and I honestly had to stop and think, wedding? Oh, right, yes, that’d be my wedding she’s talking about! That’s not to say I don’t ever think about it – but mostly – I’m thinking about vaginas.
Let me explain. The book is called ‘Does My Vagina Look Fat in This?’ See? Well, it’s a long story and I won’t go into it right now, as I feel the need to ease myself slowly into this Snoopyless brave new world. Let’s just say that I’ve been thinking about a lot of things lately, not the least of which have been vaginas. There, I’ve said it, and gosh-darn-it, I feel lighter and braver already! Snoopy? Who needs him?!