I have teased you with glimpses of my wobbly parts, my mad professor hair and snaggle-toothed smile.
I have entertained you with my big and clever swearing.
I have made you laugh with my well-turned phrases and comedy cucumber.
I have left you cold with my poetry.
Yet I have never let you see the real me.
And I never will.
Yes, rest assured that in a virtual world where every other anonymous blogger seems to be throwing aside their pseudonyms and joyfully exposing themselves you can rely on this one to keep her realistic parts under wraps.
Bloggers across the net are discarding their nom de plumes and embracing the fact that they can now write about their real lives, their actual friends and family, without giving the game away. It's like the current appetite for reality TV, for gossip magazines, for all the mundane and humdrum details of people's lives to be laid bare and discussed endlessly. It's undeniably real and undeniably dreary. I don't want to watch some pot-bellied oaf scratching his arse on reality TV. I want to watch a bloody good drama where beautiful women do terrible things to handsome men. Or something. I want escapism, sequins and a soft focus lens. If I want reality I'll close the laptop.
With that in mind, and assuming there are others like me, I will be residing in the Boudoir, and resisting the urge to witter on about my career aspirations or family escapades, for the forseeable future. I may post occasionally about my cat but other than that I'll try to keep it unreal.