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How to be a Woman, by Caitlin Moran. Have you read it yet?

If you haven't, then I urge you too. I received it for my birthday and have devoured every word since. I don't think her honesty will suit everyone, particularly those women, who were by birth or breeding naturally feminine. I wasn't. I've struggled for years to follow the rules on how to be a proper woman, and often fail at the first hurdle:

I never have tissues in my handbag.
I got mud all over my wedding dress and ruined the shoes.
I have no matching underwear. In fact, some days I have no underwear!
I bite my nails.
I only shave my legs in the summer.
I screamed so much having my babies, one midwife wished the other good luck changing shift.
I never remember my children's schedule.
In fact, I forgot my child once and left her in her pram in the bread aisle of budgens.
I can't walk in heels.

The list could go on and on.

Reading this book was like having a night in with your bestest friends, wine bottles piling up on the table. She even saves the sad bit til the end, just like the maudlin hour of a get-together before you fall asleep face down on the kitchen table.

I like her style, I agree with her thoughts on being a woman, I appreciate growing up in a working class home and having aspirations to do well.

But most importantly, I enjoyed her company.