That is such crap. How dare you be so fraudulently flirtatious, cowardly and dysfunctional? I am not interested in emotional fuckwittage. Goodbye.
I will not get upset over men, but instead be poised and cool ice-queen.
It is proved by surveys that happiness does not come from love, wealth, or power but the pursuit of attainable goals.
Emotional fuckwittage.
I am not interested in emotional fuckwittage.
Bet I will become known as brilliant cook and hostess.
You only get one life. I’ve just made a decision to change things a bit and spend what’s left of mine looking after me for a change.
I keep telling you, nobody wants legs like a stick insect. They want a bottom they can park in a bike in and balance a pint of beer on.
Decided to have a cappuccino and chocolate croissants on way to work to cheer self up. Do not care about figure. Is no point as no one loves or cares about me.
Am going to cook shepherd’s pie for them all – British home cooking.
It seems wrong and unfair that Christmas, with its stressful and unmanageable financial and emotional challenges, should first be forced upon one wholly against one’s will, then rudely snatched away just when one is starting to get into it.
One has to be in control, otherwise the whole dynamic becomes a total disaster.
Clearly in textbook terms, the gentleman should text the lady first after intercourse, but perhaps the whole socio-etiquettical system breaks down when an insect plague is involved.
A woman has her needs. What good is a mother to her poor children if she’s suffering from low self-esteem and sexual frustration? If you don’t get laid soon, you will literally close up. More importantly, you will shrivel. And you will become bitter.
It struck me as pretty ridiculous to be called Mr. Darcy and to stand on your own looking snooty at a party. It’s like being called Heathcliff and insisting on spending the entire evening in the garden, shouting “Cathy” and banging your head against a tree.
It occurred to me that if Africa needed us, sometimes we needed Africa a great deal more.
Reminded of favorite poem by Wendy Cope which goes: At Christmas little children sing and merry bells jingle. The cold winter air makes our hands and faces tingle. And happy families go to church and cheerily they mingle, And the whole business is unbelievably dreadful if you’re single.
One must not live one’s life through men but must be complete on oneself as a woman of substance.
Sink into morbid, cynical reflection on how much romantic heartbreak is to do with ego and miffed pride rather than actual loss.
I always market research my books before I hand them in by showing them to five or six close friends who I trust to be honest with me, so they are very heavily re-written already.