Every now and then, a tiny bit of the old me resurfaces and gives me a smile. The-putting-on-makeup-me. The-strutting-around-in-heels-me. The-choosing-cream-white-coat-over-practical-me. So when Big M took me out for dinner on Saturday, I felt more like being just me than I did over the past seven months.
A bit unlike the old me: after dinner I refused another glass of Champagne at the bar, eager to hit the pillow by 10:30pm. I guess that’s when Met Mum took over again.