OverRated: The Material Girl

I watch them living their material lifestyle.

Money is no object.

Gifts from their lovers come out of their ears, a physical manifestation of an intimacy that they cannot articulate but are desperate to quantify. Both the giving and the receiving a way to demonstrate to their equally wealthy companions the depths and dimensions of their emotional commitment. Precious metals and highly-polished stones wrapped in their instantly recognisable boxes and distinctively-coloured mini-carrier bags. Or expensive artwork. Or luxury cars. All acceptable affirmations of their mutual desire.

Once I was one of them, counting my luck and my loveability in terms of carats in my jewellery box, revelling in the acquisition of electronic gadgetry and engaging in automotive snobbery. Moving from one undervalued gift to the next in search of some definitive proof that I mattered to him.

But in a world where material possessions cannot nourish or warm you, these days I prefer to receive my expressions of devotion in a different currency.

To half-wake in the small hours within the platinum circle of his arms; the flesh of his torso nestling me in a padded box, lined by the velvet darkness of the night. We are both enveloped in his gem-encrusted whisper of 'I love you' and the knowledge that what we have is more precious than any jewel.

Riches indeed.