My brain was so numb it wasn’t sending any signals to the rest of my body. I could hear the excitement in Dad’s voice, but I needed another minute. I don’t know why the poor girl won’t pronounce her own name the way I want. It’s really messing things up for all of the other Seer-shas in the country. I know Saoirse Ronan’s been on an international tour of duty telling everyone it’s Sur-sha and God knows she’s a national treasure but it’s Seer-sha. True to form, however, Dad found a way to make putting on clothes and running away to a party an appealing prospect. I’d spent two gruelling weeks sitting in a hall with no air-conditioning and the mandatory exam period heat wave making me so sweaty my thighs squelched every time I stood up. Wanting to shift the life out of someone was about as much as I could hope for if I went to the post-exam party, but it wasn’t enough to get me out of my fluffy socks and sweatpants. That doesn’t get its due as the beautiful phenomenon it is. You know, maul, snog, lob the gob, feek, meet, wear. I do believe in wanting to get the shift.

Like plastic chokers, glittery eyeshadow, and TV reboots.

I’ve read a bunch of think pieces about how the romantic comedy is making a comeback, but I think it’s just a nineties hangover trying to crawl its way back into relevance. You know, where you meet someone in an impossibly coincidental way and you lock eyes and true, everlasting love ensues. I don’t believe in love at first sight or soul mates or any of that guff you see in the movies.

The falling in love montage