I am not a hopeless romantic. I used to think that some boy, preferably a future investment banker in Manhattan, would wisk me away in University we would get married at the Summer House the summer following, and I would have a townhouse full of little blond haired beauties on the Upper West Side. Those days are gone, and I would quite frankly be happy some days with a warm body to wake up beside. I find this shift fascinating. I can make it directly accountable to a more mature (and yes older) view on life. I do not expect flowers, or candy, or little stupid notes in my briefcase in the morning. I am not a cheesey romantic person. However...............
I did find myself watching a PVRed (equivalent of TIVO in Canada) last episode of last season of CSI last night. I was in tears. What is going on???? When they found Sarah in the desert and Grissum was holding her hand in the helicopter, smiling at her as she opened her eyes..........I was like a wounded puppy. I was balling like a baby. This is ridiculous. Can I slough it off on being hormonal?? No. Maybe it is just the desert of dry spells of men that I am currently in. I don't know, but it was pathetic. I can't even call my best friend to lament, as she has just moved with her lovely husband to real London. What a night. Puffy eyes and all greeted me this morning. Pathetic I tell you, pathetic.
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