I Wish I Could Be Hard And

I Do What Most Women Do. I Meet Someone And Some Of It's Right, Maybe He Looks Right, Or Has The Right Job, Or The Right Background, And, Instead Of Sitting Back And Waiting For Him To Reveal His Other Bits, I Make Them Up. I Decide How He Thinks, How He's Going To Treat Me, And, Sure Enough, Every Time I Conclude That This Time He's Definitely My Perfect Man, And All Of A Sudden, Well, Not So Suddenly Perhaps, Usually Around Six Months After We've Split Up, I See That He Wasn't The Person I Thought He Was At All.

It's About Thinking That Being Blonde And Slim And Perfect Will Automatically Bring You Happiness, And Then Discovering That Life Is Full Of As Many Disappointments As There Were Before.

You Are The Best Person I've Met In Years, And If I'd Met You In A Year's Time, Or Maybe Even A Few Months, I Know We Could Be Happy Together, But I Can't Give You What You Need.

Fantasies Are Absolutely Safe, As Long As You Never Try To Make Them A Reality.

And Then There Was Him, The Long And Painful Love Of Her Life.