Slowly but surely, sweating blood and shedding tears, I'm completing my romantic education. I've watched "Love, Actually" yesterday evening, and I think I'm improving because I didn't get very annoyed with the horrible performance and the awfully trite, cheesy script.
I didn't say it didn't bother me, yo. I just said I didn't get extremely annoyed by it.

And before any of you starts nudging me about that paper due Monday, and the final doom come Sunday, I say : Don't mess with me, monkey.
A girl needs her distractions, else, she will  wither away and wilt.

Today I'm taking Bob out. I intend to surprise the evil car with a quick bath. Then, we're going to the famous chinese doctor who is not really chinese at all, but who's counting. I'll park Bob next to his joke of a car, (Japanese, actually.) and  change into the white cotton Thai pants and white sleeveless tank top, standing on one foot in the tiny bathroom, trying to balance myself without touching the walls, where cobwebs dangle mysteriously, and not a spider in sight.
We'll talk for an hour or so, sitting next to a dining table that bravely imitates a desk.
I will cry, and he will take notes using a long white pencil, and offer me soft pink tissues to wipe the tears away,
from a big flowery box.
Then I'll glide into the room, tip toeing on the white soft mattresses that cover a gigantic oriental rug. I will lay my weary body down and  absorb the heat and pretend I'm lying on the beach in the Sinai desert, or Thailand, while he sticks needles in all the right places and speaks softly in exactly the right tone.

Yes, that paper will have to wait a little longer still,  for after I leave the chinese doctor, who isn't  at all chinese, I'm going to have tea with Iris and her man.  A girl needs her friends, at times like this. A girl needs to be pampered with hot, sweet herb tea, and fruit and cookies and the merry sounds of children tearing each other's throats.
And then a girl needs to take her clean car home, feed the dogs, the cats, herself perhaps.
And a girl then simply must sit at her desk and write a paper, even though she is dying to crawl into bed and lose touch with reality; even though she may wish to broaden her romantic horizons with yet another romantic cliche` of a film, even though it has been a while since she was a girl.  But still.