I’ve spent the last few days luxuriating in the possibilities of a name change. All the things it could mean to me.

It always started the same way: I walked into a huge party. The party was in my honour. Of course it was. And I looked AMAZING. Of course I did. And as I flitted around the room being generally fabulous, I caught snippets of people’s conversation as I walked by. Every single chat revolved around me, and how gorgeous I looked, and how well I was doing, and how much everyone adored me. Of course they did.