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It is all over the newspapers today: we French women are quite competitive. I am no exception. OK, I will go straight to the point: I need to be reassured. Right here. Right now. Let me explain: Valerie Trierweiler, the scorned ex-First Lady of France, is on the cover of this Saturday’s Times magazine.

I am gutted. It is all going downhill from here, right?

First of all, I think that I look better than her. Please tell me that I look better. Then, I think that it is totally unfair that she has such an advantage simply because she slept with the French president. Because I never have. And I never will. We have an expression in French ‘S’il etait dans mon lit, j’irais dormir dans la baignoire’, which translates as ‘if he was in my bed, I would sleep I the bathtub’. That’s exactly how I feel about Mr Hollande. I simply don’t understand what women see in him.

As much as I agree that she has been treated appallingly, the whole story is, after all, a common one. Of course, the President behaved like boor and a liar. And an amateur: some of my French friends believe that his main mistake was to get caught. That said, at the end of the day, he dumped her for a younger actress. Yawn. Something similar happened to a couple of acquaintances of mine and it didn’t make the headlines. The French way to get her revenge would have been to publicly go out with a toy boy and leave proudly. The fact that she completely broke down is at the same time touching and incredibly naive. I am of two minds about what she went through. Because what goes around comes around, right? After all, she was the mistress before becoming the girlfriend, and everybody knows that when a man officialise his relationship with his mistress, it creates a vacancy. Having said this, it was a very public humiliation, and I suppose that we can’t fully comprehend the magnitude of his betrayal. In short, it is a sad and slightly sordid story with no hero and no villain.

There is a happy ending for her: the affair allowed her to get a great publishing deal, and the publicity that she is getting is simply amazing. Would people be interested in knowing how my heart got broken when I was younger? I seriously doubt it. Damn it. I will never understand how these things work. 

Today, I wanted to set the record  straight: I don’t like it when women get famous because of the men they have relationships (or one-night stands) with. It must be the old feminist in me. Because, come on, I am sure that she is more than a scorned girlfriend. Could we please talk about what she has achieved rather than her sex life? Oh, and I didn’t sleep with anyone to be on the cover. Just saying. 

Muriel – A French Yummy Mummy In London