221112_15If this weekend is anything to go by, twenty will be one heck of a happy year. Juicy scoop to follow shortly; for now I must bask in the remaining hours of Birthday Girl glory. Indeed, I must.

Before I do dash, I thought it might be worth mentioning that, no, that piece of sentimental bling on my finger is- in fact- not an engagement ring. You would not believe the scores of congratulatory reactions such an accessory (on the wrong hand) has provoked. For a time I actually had to replace it with something more cocktail and less bride-to-be for fear it was putting off the evident hoards of potential suitors, it got so serious. Sadly this change didn’t result in the hotly-anticipated (by those other than myself, I hasten to add) flock of mighty fine monsieurs (feel free to wheel out your string quartet and play a sorrowful tune) and I missed it hugely, so the rock was reinstated.

After all, distinguishing between your left and right is quite high up on the list of Suitor Criteria…


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