I’m out for two weeks. No more mundanity. (Shut up, it’s a word now.) No more self-righteous backfatty-girl hating. I will become one of those backfat-baring girls. I will buy the shamefully low capris! I will collect all my strappy sandals and I will loll around the beach topless. ITALY!

Raoul, my valet, is coming to pick me up at six tomorrow. I will have three white Russians on the plane and then I will sleep until we touch down in Rome.