I want to be your Best Friend Forever, I really do. You are so cool and beautiful and beachy. Your arms are long, golden and slender, and I imagine getting lost in your sunny, blonde company for days on end, as foamy sea water laps at our toes and we lounge on the sand.
But my skin is pale and painted with the blue lines of a street directory. I belong in the shade, or underneath a burqa. With my birthing hips and my strong, short legs I should be doing something productive, like pushing a supermarket trolley or digging potatoes, not lying on a beach.
How you can be so lazy and so slim is beyond me: you should be bloated after all the excess of December. You have me eating lettuce and carrot sticks and Diet Coke, only I crave something with more substance.
Everyone wants to be friends with you. You are shiny. You are full of good intentions and promise: when people first meet you, your newness dazzles them and fills their heads up with big ideas and they become consumed by how they are going to change, be better.
But you’re all front, January. You’re a fair-weather friend, full of sworn promise and blue skies. But then days pass and everything looks underwhelmingly the same.
April will be my new BFF: April’s cool weather is forgiving of my foibles, my pasty complexion and my predilection for pasta. April allows for layers, where I can retreat and be introverted and throw witty grenades at the world from the sanctity of my front room. April is all autumn leaves and gumboots, no sand to ride up my outfit.
January, you are a cool, blonde bitch.
January is a bitch. Discuss. What’s your favourite month or season and why?