I saw Amy Winehouse's 13-year-old god-daughter, Dionne Bromfield, perform this week * She was completely fabulous and adorable, and inevitably, made me start to question my own level of success -- or lack thereof. I definitely felt a bit jealous of this zygote. So talented...and she was clad in a Viv Westwood prom dress that I would love to get my hands on and my ageing hips into. In the past week, meanwhile, my stats haven't been climbing. My debit card was declined twice (I am too irresponsible to even have a credit card, and have shopaholicism flowing through my veins) and my Tuesday night ended with me hunched over a toilet because I couldn't handle the three beers and half a glass of Champagne I'd consumed. Unlike my early-twenties, when mild alcoholism, an insouciant attitude and limited cash flow (although, worryingly, I did seem to have double my net worth back then) seemed particularly charming attributes, especially when paired with a black tutu mini skirt and spandex leggings, I feel like these qualities don't quite suit my 27-year-old frame, leaving me with a sickly pallor and an air of desperation.
At any rate, the bathroom incident provided a wake-up call of sorts: alcohol consumption was sacrificed entirely on Wednesday, and I made it through Thursday with the aid of only one Honey Dew beer. And I realised an important lesson today when I opened a joint bank account with my fiance: I may be non-functional but I have done one thing right. Attached myself (with urgency and in a claw-like fashion) to someone who is.
*Yes, I reluctantly made it out of the house for a work-related activity. However, I consumed so much booze at the event that I was in a virtual rotting coma throughout, so I don't think I really betrayed my cause.
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