I’m not one of those girls that has kept a little black book. I do have a pink holographic book with a flamingo on it. I got it during a wildlife excursion in year 11, buying it was the highlight of the trip for me. It may make me sound like a loser, but after five hours of observing animals and birds, I’m unapologetic. At least they had a shop. I went home with a tea cup, pencil case, and my little pink book. I was happy.
In the fifteen years I’ve had it, the book was gradually filled with the names and numbers of men I went out with. Briefly and unsuccessfully went out with.
I sit in the edge of my bed, alone while Scott and Katie shop for new backpacks, and silently flick through its pages.
I dug it out because in films, when the heroine has a romantic crisis, she reaches for her ad
