I Think A Lot Of People Still

It's A Girl. It's A Little Girl, With Scrunched-up Petal Lips And A Tuft Of Dark Hair And Hands In Tiny Fits, Up By Her Ears. All That Time, That's Who Was In There. And It's Weird, But The Minute I Saw Her I Just Thought: It's You. Of Course It Is.

If I Worked At White Globe Consulting, I Wouldn't Be Able To Do My Job. I Would Spend All Day Texting The Other People In The Office, Asking Them What Was Going On Today And Had They Heard Anything New And What Did They Think Was Going To Happen. Hmm. Maybe It's A Good Thing I'm Not In An Office Job.

She Doesn’t Really Have A Sense Of Humor. I Think She’d Like To Have One—it’s Just That She Doesn’t Quite Understand What Jokes Are For.

I Can Do This, I Tell Myself Firmly. I Can Be Attracted To Him. It's Just A Matter Of Self Control And Possibly Also Getting Very Drunk. So I Lift My Glass And Take Several Huge Gulps. I Can Feel The Bubbles Surging Into My Head, Singing Happily "i'm Going To Be A Millionaire's Wife! I'm Going To Be A Millionaire's Wife!" And When I Look Back At Tarquin, He Already Looks A Bit More Attractive. Alcohol Is Obviously Going To Be The Key To Our Marital Status.

There Are Some Things I Don't Understand About Jess And Never Will. No Wedding Dress. No Flowers. No Photo Album. No Champagne. The Only Thing She Got Out Of Her Wedding Was A Husband. (i Mean, Obviously The Husband Is The Main Point When You Get Married. Absolutely. That Goes Without Saying. But Still, Not Even A New Pair Of Shoes?)