Manifesto

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Like any shiny new love affair, fear not, I shall not be blinded by expensive peach lip glosses beckoning me with false promises of plumper lips nor will I lay down for the finest 3000 thread count Egyptian cotton bed sheets that whisper my name as I fall asleep.

No, not me, I promise to try everything and let you know all about it, in sickness and in health, in good times and in bad. Therefore, it is my duty as I do solemnly swear to tell you the truth, the absolute truth.

So, if that new shampoo really does smell like dirty socks, if that new overpriced Japanese restaurant has a rude snooty French waiter, and if your bum really does look big in that, I’ll tell you.

If I have to search the corners of the globe for the best Grand Marnier soufflé – and get a complete stranger to roll me home, watch every single episode of Gossip Girl even if I can’t afford the shoes, read every Vogue, Harpers Bazaar, and Vanity Fair (despite the paper cuts and ink stains), find that café in the seediest laneway serving the best and cheapest Iskander AND including but not limited to, relaxing on a beach somewhere exotic with men wearing next to nothing, peeling me grapes – then that’s what I’ll do.

The torture.

Such is my dedication to the job, and to you dear reader.