This is why I love women's magazines. They go our of their way to make you feel better about yourself. The latest issue of Glamour tells us, "Hey, it's ok to have a 'what happens on holiday stays on holiday' policy - especially if what happened involved a pool and no clothes... it's ok to order the only wine you can pronounce... to spend your entire Boxercise class fantasising about the burger you're going to inhale afterwards... to secretly enjoy a construction worker's wolf-whistle, but give him the death stare anyway... to internally chant, 'Please God, please God, please God,' when you're using your cash card in a shop the day before pay day... to make the same mistake twice. Or even three times. But not if it involves John Mayer."
Thank you, Glamour! Now I can be totally reckless with my finances, act like a drunk teenager abroad, undermine my own efforts to keep fit and healthy, and internalise my own sexual objectification. Oh, plus I can bitch about the relationships of people I will never meet. And I can do all this completely safe in the knowledge that, as it turns out, all women do just the same.