know my name. What if this person was a stalker? At twenty-eight years old, I was beyond wishing for Valentine’s Day cards. My teenage years had come and gone and I’d never had one, not even from geeky Will, my brother’s best mate and my one and only long-time admirer. I’d asked him once why he’d never sent me a card and he’d shrugged saying, ‘I didn’t think you were “that type”.’ Of course I was ‘that type’. I was a girl. Every girl wishes for that one card at some point in her life, the one that says ‘you’ are desirable, alluring, sexy, wanted. What girl didn’t want that confirmation? The card my mother sent to me when I was seventeen didn’t count, such badly disguised handwriting! If truth be told, it was worse than not getting a card at all. Back in the day, one of my good friends always received a card from her dad! That was seriously wrong on so many levels. At school I was always the sensible one. Leader of the debating club, not afraid to speak up. At uni, I was the one solving other people’s problems. Did I put men off? I could never play the weak little woman, it just wasn’t in my DNA.
