Work Hard At . . . Something.

At University, I Used To Write Silly Little Sketches And Monologues, But Never Fiction.

There's Something Unnatural About A Woman Finding Babies Or, More Specifically, Conversation About Babies, Boring. They'll Think She's Bitter, Jealous, Lonely. But She's Also Bored Of Everybody Telling Her How Lucky She Is, What With All That Sleep And All That Freedom And Spare Time, The Ability To Go On Dates Or Head Off To Paris At A Moments Notice. It Sounds Like They're Consoling Her, And She Resents This And Feels Patronized By It.

I Applied For The University Of Life. Didn't Get The Grades.

...and Once Again Dexter Is Struck By How Easy Conversation Can Be When No-one Is In Their Right Mind

Be Nice Wont You?" "i Am Nice, I'm Always Nice." "but Not Too Nice. I Mean Don't Make A Religion Out Of It, Niceness.