Political Correctness Is A Minefield

For Feel-good Fiction To Work, There Has To Be An Element Of Darkness.

There's No Doubt That Relationships Do Suffer When Circumstances Change Profoundly.

Besides, I'd Seen A Really Nice Pair Of Shoes Yesterday In The Mall And I Wanted Them For My Own. I Can't Describe The Feeling Of Immediate Familiarity That Rushed Between Us. The Moment I Clapped Eyes On Them I Felt Like I Already Owned Them. I Could Only Suppose That We Were Together In A Former Life. That They Were My Shoes When I Was A Serving Maid In Medieval Britain Or When I Was A Princess In Ancient Egypt. Or Perhaps They Were The Princess And I Was The Shoes. Who's To Know? Either Way I Knew That We Were Meant To Be Together.

The Back Windows Looked Out Over The Fields, Then The Atlantic, Maybe A Hundred Yards Away. Actually, I'm Just Making That Bit Up. I Had No Idea How Far Away The Sea Was. Only Men Could Do Things Like That. "half A Mile." "fifty Yards." Giving Directions, That Sort Of Thing. I Could Look At A Woman And Say "thirty-six C." Or "let's Try It In The Next Size Up." But I Had No Idea How Far Away Tim's Sea Was Except That I Wouldn't Want To Walk To It In High Heels.

God! I Hated This Business Of Being Grown-up. I Hated Having To Make Decisions Where I Didn't Know What Was Behind The Door. I Wanted A World Where Heroes And Villains Were Clearly Labeled. Where Ominous Music Comes On-screen So You Can't Possibly Mistake Him. Where Someone Asks You To Choose Between Playing With The Beautiful Princess In The Fragrant Garden And Being Eaten By The Hideous Monster In The Foul-smelling Pit. Not Exactly A Difficult One, Now Is It? Not Something That You Would Agonize Over, Or That Would Make You Lose A Night's Sleep?