(I like to use brackets.)

So the first two weeks here have been crazy and as expected have been rammed with ridiculous fancy dress themes, bottles of Tesco basic alcohol (one again may I remind you how classy us West Lorne St women are) and sleep deprivation. But thankfully the ever increasing number of facebook photos have captured our days beautifully; not a sweaty forehead or cross eyed look among us. HA!
On a positive note doubt I will ever wear bright orange again; twice in two weeks is more than enough.
Putting the orange fetishes to one side, the next big event is my 21ST!!
With only three days to go the countdown is well under way. Have brought the dress, the bag, the shoes and all I need to do now is hope the evening doesn’t end with too much champagne and tears. Tears belonging to me.
I’m not one for pouring my heart out, but there is one little thing niggling at the back of my mind. Back in January I met this guy, who as fate would have it was one day older than me. As things developed we started making plans and a 48 hour 21st birthday was just one of the things on an increasing list. Needless to say by Easter things had hit rock bottom.
But being the stupidly romantic person that I am (Who wouldn’t want heart shaped toast for breakfast?) the ‘What if?’ question is spinning round my head. It’s uncontrollably taunting me and slowly driving me potty.
I’m no relationship coach and will be the first to admit my track record is not brilliant, but if there is no closure your mind will always wonder. (Or you may start randomly rambling and trying to sound like you know what you’re talking about. Voilá)
Either way, it’s a silly little thing that will instantly disappear when a gorgeous man wishes me happy birthday and gracefully sweeps me off my feet. (In a more romantic and less of an attempted to help me stand up kind of way.)
So there you have it, the final days as a 20 year old. Looking forward to maturity, responsibility, champagne and more degrading photos. And you know what, I can’t wait