Who's that girl? Who's that girl? It's...

Today I was feeling a little sorry for myself. OK, that's a lie, I was feeling a lot sorry for myself. How vile, I agree.

Not at work, of course (as you know I love my job. Hearts and flowers, revolting love and that), just to clarify. My team and I cursed the world for thrusting Monday upon us so quickly after the last one, joked about our in-sync foul moods and by the time lunch came around, I was me again. Laughing so hard at a text message a friend sent me that a colleague thought I was having a seizure. Sometimes my own attractiveness is overwhelming. How do mortals look upon my face and not weep with joy? It's one of the worlds greatest mysteries. Perhaps we will never know for sure.

After a brief chat with one of my fellow teachers and all round favourite person, I was feeling good. I walked home through my beloved city in all its Christmas festivity and I couldn't think of anywhere in the world I would rather be. But then I stepped into my tiny flat, sat on the sofa and thought how I would never again be sat here with The Boy teasing my way into his arms.

Why did I have to be a K-K-K-Katie girl? Why did I have to be complicated? What is the use of being quirky if the only person who finds my quirkiness adorable is in a relationship? For that brief second I didn't want to be A K-K-K-Katie girl. I wanted to be A Simple Girl. If The Boy wanted simplicity, I wanted to give him that.

And then, as if a spell had been cast upon me, I was over it. How? I shall explain.

My old tiny screened, video playing tv was on in the background (which is a habit I should get out of, I agree), and without warning I was reminded of who I am. Of me.

New Girl, staring one my favourite American actresses, Zooey Deschanel, was squeezed onto my miniature screen and there I was; Jess Day (Deschanel's hopelessly befuddled character). No, I am definitely not as cute or attractive, and I have no issue with swearing (I like swearing. Swearing's my favourite!) but that aside, there I was. When New Girl first came to our shores from the Americas, an alarming amount of friends messaged, tweeted and told me that I was so alike Deschanel's character Jess, that if they hadn't known any better, they would have bet their mortgage that Jess Day was, in fact, based on me. I was flattered. I may have danced. I may have even sung "Who's that girl? Who's that girl? It's Jo!" but who can remember.

And it's true. In the very first episode of New Girl, we find Jess trying to be sexy for her (bastard cheating) boyfriend. She does a wee striptease whilst singing "I'm doing sexy things to the pillow!" before knocking over a plant. It always reminds me of the time I brought up my love of World War II history when lying naked with The Boy. Being Schmexy all the time is hard for some people, alright!!

Back to Jess; in that same episode we see her heading out on her first date since her boyfriend, Spencer, cheated on her. We find Jess stood in a pair of dungarees and heals as her best friend demands she changes and Jess' response; "I was going for a sexy farmers daughter thing. 'Ooh, I'm going to milk the cows. With my bucket!'..." I was once went to a slutty uni night dressed as a Norwegian Milkmaid. In Timberland boots. And a woolly Norwegian jumper. And a woolly hat. And no cleavage. And apparently that's not the sexiest look for a night out. Who made up these rules? WHO?

Like Jess, I like to burst into song. I like to quotes films, songs and anything else that has a tenuous link with the scenario I'm in. I like to don any accent that pops into my head. I like doing Kermit The Frog impressions. I like wearing my pyjamas to work with my hair in bunches, bear ears and conduct a meeting with a new parent. I like that Sister and I finished her wedding reception by dancing (the proper dance from the film. Obviously!!!!) to "So Long, Farewell". I am who I am and if works so well for Deschanel it earns her an Emmy nominee then who am I to change a winning formula.

I will still curse my ways for not being typical and always wonder how different and simpler my life would be if I didn't feel the need to quote Blackadder every time someone mentioned an aardvark. Or Dr Johnson.

On the plus side, it turns out that I really am quite girly. And here I was thinking my name was Clive.