by charlotte guest
Hi.
Hi.
My name is Charlotte. You
may know me from such things as The Little Athletics Newsletter:
April, 2006 and That Place You Buy God-awful Coffee From.
I've heard many things
about you, but mostly I've heard that you're becoming a woman.
Please forgive the
whispers. We're a small place, and this is the most exciting thing to
happen since the shop got painted a controversial tangerine.
I'm sure your ears alight
with our burning questions, but what I really want to know is if you
have an easily convertible name, like Christopher to Christina, or
Harry to Harriet. I sincerely hope your name isn't Douglas.
My boyfriend is
perplexed. “What do they do with it?” he asked, panicking, “Do
they just sling it into the bin?” Mum told him it will get burnt,
along with all the other faulty body-bits, and he just about fainted.
(Mum also wanted me to recommend Airflex and Clarks, who do wide-fit shoes.)
(Mum also wanted me to recommend Airflex and Clarks, who do wide-fit shoes.)
Frankly, I admire you. I admire your bravery. It's a frightening thing, but sometimes you just can't love the skin you're in, because it feels like someone else's skin. Or at least, that's how I imagine it.
What I wanted to wish
you, on behalf of everyone, is good luck. Good luck, mademoiselle,
you're going to go from stud to stunner, I just know it (take a look
at Coccinelle and April Ashley).
Lots of love,
Charlotte and the world.
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