I can't sleep. I think I have a very mild addiction to sleeping pills because when I don't take them I toss and turn endlessly. Tonight is one of those nights, although my mind is more restless than my body. 

I'm not sure whether it's the endless hours spent in therapy, discussing every single relationship I have ever had in embarrassing detail or The Sex & The City marathon I'm going through at the moment, induced by my latest fashion faux pas, a leg cast, set in place to heal my broken ankle (stiletto's, champagne and Stephanie- lets so not go there.) but for some reason I am obsessed by the idea of relationships. 

I'm 23, I'm single- apparently I'm a mess. 

This raises a few questions in my mind- like the age old 'why is a single woman a mess, but a single man having the time of his life?'. 

Why am I, an intelligent, articulate and beautiful young lady, validated by my relationship status?

Why does an unwillingness to settle for just any man put us women into a bad light? 

I try to be independent, and I try even harder to be happy with this independence- but I'm made to question how genuine my happiness is every day. My mother, my friends, both girls and boys put it on me at any given opportunity, and then there are old friends, who we only see sporadically, but who's opening question is always the same- 'How's your love life darling?'.

I say fine, and it is, but when I explain that fine for me means 'single and fabulous', they look at me with so much pity and belittling understanding that I could take off one of my fabulous shoes and hit them with it. (Shoes that I bought myself by the way...) 

I am cautious, and so I should be- how many of my friends in relationship bliss actually ever feel that blissful? Why hasn't he called? Why doesn't he like this dress? Why haven't we had sex in two months? Why, why, why?

Personally I couldn't care less why, and that is because the only person I need worry about is me. 

I don't claim it to be a bed of roses, God knows that life with a broken ankle would be less excruciatingly boring if I had a significant other- but if the only time I want a boyfriend is when I've broken a bone then I think I'm pretty much out of it. 

Ciao! x

He opens the champagne, pours it into two glasses, previously chilled. 

I sit nervous, tapping my foot, surveying a relationship I thought had been killed.

Wondering what subject we will dance around next, parties or fashion?

He takes me to his room, shows me his new shoes, seemingly his only real passion.

New accessories on his dresser and a heated marble floor in his en-suite, 

I sit on his bed, noticing the new 300 count Egyptian cotton sheets.

I have butterfly's in my stomach, and wish I could sip my drink more slowly, 

I'm wearing the best dress I own, I bought a new clutch bag especially.

Yet I still feel under dressed, wishing I'd had my hair blow dried, 

Wishing I hadn't had my nails painted this colour, and wishing I could hide.

We walk back to the kitchen, more alcohol, liquid lunches are the thing you know?

It matters little that he saw me pop my medication fifteen minutes ago.

Lunch is light, of course, a salad and another glass of champagne. 

I wonder what I'm selling and why I'm on this campaign. 

It's time to leave, he calls me a cab, 

Hands me a wad of cash which I place in my new handbag.

A kiss on the cheek, and a tear forms, 

My mask is slipping, its time to be gone. 

'Bye Dad, thanks for having me'.

'My pleasure darling, I'll stay in touch'- we'll see.