Behaving Like Adults [antikvár]

Chapter 1 Modern women don't believe in love. Believing in love carries roughly the same stigma as wearing court shoes. It's as old-fashioned as going on a diet (as opposed to a detox). It suggests you have no sense of irony and you like Meg Ryan films. A modern w^oman cannot accept that Father Christmas is a fraud and persist in believing that one sunny day her dark handsome destiny will appear in a puff of Fahrenheit and haul her off to Happy Ever After. I know all that and yet, I do believe in love. I apologise. But I can't help it. I presume it's a genetic blip which might also account for my dress sense. (Too pink.) I just like stuff to be nice. That's even worse. If you wish to maintain even a shred of credibility, you have to be cynical and keep your mouth in a hard straight line even when you find something funny. I'm not stupid. I do know the world is cruel. But I always like to hope that it isn't. I test my ahhhh! count. You proceed through the day, listing every occasion you're prompted to think Ahhhh! You can't cheat and hire a puppy to peep out of a basket. Often, my total is horrific. When I started the dating agency, Rachel crowed that now I'd see what people were really like. I wouldn't believe the lies they told to get laid! She said this as if I were either a nun, or a social retard who believed - despite living in a densely populated part of the planet for twenty-nine years - that seduction was about honing in on the obvious and blurting it. Whereas I'm well aware that if that were the case, the human race would have fizzled out in the Iron Age