If I’m radically honest, when I first became an adult, I secretly harboured the dream that Oprah would somehow discover my raw and edgy sex-filled blog which she would adore and which would deliver me from my seventeen-and-a-half-part-time jobs that ranged from lifeguarding at a pool that kept springing a leak, to potty training gifted preschoolers to translating soothing sentences about emollient and foaming skin cleansers.

Meanwhile, I had not quite cultivated what the Sensitive New Age Peeps (SNAPs) would call a sense of abundance.