#1 Grace

Ever had your heart broken?

Sucks. Doesn't it.

And why is it always girls? Answer me that would you. Tell me please why you never see a guy with puffy bloodshot red eyes and a half-eaten tub of BJs (Ben&Jerrys duh) lying face down on their carpet with The Notebook playing on DVD in the background.

Because as a woman, we are genetically programmed to be more emotionally in tune, more romantic, empathetic and equally hysterical than men; we are encouraged to be led by our hearts, and brought up to believe that a successful fairytale marriage is the pinacle of our exisitance on earth.

Well fuck you Rachel McAdams.

My name is Grace Griffiths , I am a 23-year-old agony aunt columnist for Chic - a fashion and lifestyle magazine for the 21st century girl... right.

I'm attractive, I have a fantastic bum and I have a Double Honours First in English Literature; the world should be my oyster at this age, correct? Not correct.

Just this morning my comfortable little life as I knew it came crashing down upon me as I discovered my boyfriend of 3 years inside the hot swedish blonde girl that works in the bar round the corner from his place.

I'd like to paint a picture for you if I may-

I feel elated, its a Friday morning, I have a day off work and I've just been told via phonecall that I'm getting a raise from Michelle, my boss, aka. Satan's sister. I punch the air, Ninja Turtles Style! I grab the flu meds I've just bought from Boots and throw them in my handbag, I run out the door, and then run back in. I tear my dress and my fleshie pants off and carefully slip into the silky red teddy I've also just purchased. I throw back on a huge fur (faux) coat and wink at myself as I sprint out of the door to my boyfriend's house.

Gosh, I am such a good girlfriend. I congratulate myself on being so thoughtful as to buy medicine for my poor Benny sick in bed, and try and picture how turned on he's going to be when he sees what's underneath my fur.

It's only 11am and whilst I hate morning sex, I know he's been bedridden for two days and must be so lonely and horny that I suck it up and  get ready to give him the best sex of his life, maybe even doggy style which I hate.

I walk a little too briskly for a February morning and slip, ass first, just outside his house. I sit there for a while, the melted snow slush mud puddle seeps through my new silky lingerie and gives me buttock chills, I fight back the tears in my eyes that I always get when I fall over, a couple of teenagers laugh and shout "She fell oooooovver" which is very original so well done kids, I slowly pick myself up, nod and make a thumbs up to the postman who yelled "Alwight sweetheart?", and I knock on Ben's door slowly, and lacklustrely; wiping the dirt water off my ass and kicking the tampons that fell out of my bag into the gutter-

No answer

He must be asleep.

I try the door handle as he never remembers to lock his front door despite me scolding him daily that 2 houses have already been burgled on his street so why won't he just be more sodding careful. And it opens.

I walk upstairs slowly, (my ass bones ache), and as I get to his closed bedroom door I shrug the fur so it falls down my shoulders, revealing my small but pert boobs falling out of my damp silk teddy, and I strut in.

"Okay, I know you said I shouldn't see you for a week because you don't want to give your yucky disease to me but I couldn't resis-"

I walk in, to see Ben, cock deep in swedish Ingrid.

She wipes her white blonde hair that is strewn across her hot sweaty face, and stares in horror as Ben drops his hands from supporting her ass, she collapses in a heap on the bed and violently grabs the sheets up to protect her modesty.

Ben stares, mouth agape, kind of like a sad clown fish, and begins stuttering inaudible excuses. He grabs his boxers from the floor and jumps into them, tripping as he puts both legs in the same hole, all the while I stand frozen, in dirty wet underwear, unable to take my eyes away from Ingrid's fantastic golden tan.

Doggy style?

Tramp.

I didn't hang around too long, in fact, I threw his Lemsip at him (but it actually hit Ingrid) and flew down his stairs, ignoring him yelling my name, and sprinted the whole way back with my fur coat hanging off my body, my hot tears blurring my vision, and my shame in the gutters, with my tampons.

And that brings us to tonight, I have snapped my Notebook DVD in half (with a cut finger to boot) and I am sat in my penguin jammies that I haven't worn since I was single, at 20, and that I don't intend of taking off for at least a week. I still have mascara stains streaked across my face and my new silky puddle water teddy lies in about 25 pieces at my feet. 

I am waiting for the girls to come over and comfort me. They best be quick, I have already eaten one tub of Phish Food, I still have Baked Alaska in the freezer... and I'm supposed to be on the Dukan Diet.