a tribute to the truly marvellous pink pills which currently reside in my purse

Dear Pink Pills,

It's been a long time hasn't it? Almost seven whole years since we last crossed paths. I take partial responsibility for this, dearest Pink Pills, because I felt I didn't need you (and in truth I really didn't) and also because I couldn't get my hands on you without a prescription and, as much as I love you, my few scruples forbid me from flirting with doctors specifically to procure myself (unnecessary) medication. But this week I found myself needing you, desiring you, begging to have you back in my life (literally, I actually begged someone. Like, down on my knees, prostrate on the ground begged them). And you came through for me, Pink Pills. You made my life better - a place of happiness, light and a non-swollen ass in those hours I couldn't rely on my old mistress Red Wine to take the pain away. (Fabulous though she is, she isn't always appropriate company. Remember the mess she made the last time I enjoyed her company at work? Not. Good.)

You've helped me some tough times before, Pink Pills. Like the time we first met after I had been so roughly assaulted with a hockey stick one November morning (though others may quibble, I maintain that merely taking part in the game of hockey counts as a form of assault and so I will not be swayed in my declarations), or our encounter when you so kindly helped me recover from a tennis related injury (are you beginning to see now why I don't play sports?). But the time that I knew you were really for me, Pink Pills, when I knew that you were more than just a fairweather friend was when you helped me through the pain during my trip to Bolivia. When I pulled my Achilles tendon I thought I was going to pass out from the pain of walking on it. Being stuck in the middle of an area currently undergoing a civil war and knowing the only option was to keep on walking through the volcanic landscape to somewhere that we could finally camp was hard. The people I was travelling with bitching for over an hour about having to split my pack between them was harder. But you made it ok again, Pink Pills. You took away the pain and made it physically bearable.

And now, although I'm not asking you to help me climb mountains again, you have gotten me through the last eight hours at work. So I thank you for that, please don't think badly of me this evening when I abandon you again and run to the loving arms of my old alcoholic mistress. You know I love you - she's just more fun in social situations.

Thanks again, Pink Pills; for some you may be extra strength ibuprofen but for me you are 400 milligrams of candy coated joy.

Yours, analgesically

Alex