What is The Pink Constitution? This space is now reserved to proclaim the findings of a woman on a journey, that more times than not, will be skewed by emotion and/or cynicism. A column of kiss and tell, to put it bluntly.

I will never claim that what is written is gospel, only that it seems to be the popular opinion of many, not all, girls like myself. And don’t worry, fellas, this is not a man-hating column.

I have been single for two months now and find myself flung into the circus that is the 2008 dating scene, wearing Victoria’s Secret high shine lip gloss (color: Possession) and skepticism as the latest fashion. While dating is mostly practiced in the name of fun, it seems to come to a point where an anvil falls from the sky, hits the guy next to you on the face and stamps “not fun anymore” on his forehead, all the while he seems oblivious as he reaches for another handful of halitosis-inflicting popcorn and focuses on the movie.

Since my trip from Splitsville, I have had approximately five interesting dates?dates being a debatable term?as a couple of those cases were more like mild attacks upon personal space made possible under the shield of friendship. Soon, you will know more about these dates (“Mr. Mako” and “Tex” will definitely come up) and the reasons guys are worth analyzing and writing about.

I have been accused of overanalyzing. Well, so what? This column is to make heard the thoughts that many women tell me they share, but are too scared to bring into the open because they’ve been told “they are thinking about it too much.” So we think too much?acknowledging that does not keep us from thinking . . . it just keeps us from speaking.

Here, in written form, are the thoughts that we have when we’re home alone, bent over the tub and tugging at the drain stopper round knobby thing that refuses to budge, calling our brother and getting laughed at instead of helped, wearing pink panties and a tank top, blasting an embarrassing pop song that we’ll never admit we relate to, and we’re digging out our once beautiful, but now slimy, pieces of hair that have turned on us and now decided to join forces in order to clog the drain in the tub, and we’re thinking “what the hell went wrong with that guy?” It hits us then that you have no idea what you are missing out on. We fix our own clogs, for crying out loud, and look Maxim-worthy doing so . . . just block out the part where we’re holding a fist full of nasty.

And so article number one of The Pink Constitution is written:

1) We hereby pledge to start speaking.

What about you? Want me to hear you? Add me at myspace.com/elleoaks.