The thing that was supposed to be a big thing turned out to be nothing at all. Well, it was something, but it was the less serious, more embarrassing thing and not the more serious, potentially life-threatening (and hair-threatening!) thing. All that worry, a couple of days of starvation, the consumption of a vile concoction, mortification, fingers prodding at parts of me I didn't know I had – all to find out I have a thing I've been taught to be embarrassed about rather than a thing I should be scared of. Yes, you are most welcome for all the information.

I know I should be relieved that I have to live with embarrassment for a short time rather than with the fear of death, but I'd built up all this proactive drama within myself for that day I'd be swooning feebly on my divan while rival lovers dueled operatically for my attention. Now I don't know what to do with all this swollen drama. I suppose I'll have to find some lucky cute guy with whom to release it.