She Was Unequal To Anyone's Wistfulness. She

But That Inadequacy, Or Feeling Of Inadequacy, Never Really Goes Away. You Just Have To Trudge Ahead In The Rain, Regardless.

The Problem With A Beautiful Woman Is That She Makes Everyone Around Her Feel Hopelessly Masculine, Which If You’re Already Male To Begin With Poses No Particular Problem. But If You’re Anyone Else, Your Whole Sexual Identity Gets Dragged Into The Principal’s Office: “so What’s This I Hear About You Prancing Around, Masquerading As A Woman?” You Are Answerless. You Are Sitting On Your Hands. You Are Praying For Your Breasts To Grow, Your Hair To Perk Up.

It Was Like The Classic Scene In The Movies Where One Lover Is On The Train And One Is On The Platform And The Train Starts To Pull Away, And The Lover On The Platform Begins To Trot Along And Then Jog And Then Sprint And Then Gives Up Altogether As The Train Speeds Irrevocably Off. Except In This Case I Was All The Parts: I Was The Lover On The Platform, I Was The Lover On The Train. And I Was Also The Train.

No Matter That You Anticipate A Thing; You Get So Used To It As Part Of The Future That Its Actuality, Its Arrival, Its Force And Presence, Startles You, Takes You By Surprise, As Would A Ghost Suddenly Appearing In The Room Wearing Familiar Perfume And Boots.

I Just Don't Want You To Feel Uncomfortable About This," He Says. Say: "hey. I Am A Very Cool Person. I Am Tough." Show Him Your Bicep.