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But I’ve never been good at reading the signs.
Start a legacy of women who research dumb men, the true disease of humankind.
Because being a virgin at any age, 15 or 28 or 52 or 79, is nothing to be ashamed of.
I usually just smile and say that my book boyfriends more than fulfill me.
“You’re a man. Men don’t know what they want until it slaps them in their face.”
Whether or not I realize it, I fall in love with Gabrielle Mancini and her endless talking, her gorgeous mind, and hilarious personality.
“The only rule I have is if I’m giving it up to some random guy, he better know how to make me come, you know? Because I waited too long for it to suck.”
But with time comes wisdom, I suppose.
Each of them let me get lost and turn off my brain. Live in happily ever afters and watch the drama unfold and then wrap up neatly, unlike the real world.
It’s also probably what made me so picky that I’m a single virgin at 28. No one lives up to the fictional men who live rent-free in my mind.
“Me? Red flag? No. Pink, maybe,”
“If you plan your entire life, you never get a surprise.”
“I’m annoying. It’s fine; I’ve come to accept it and the fact that I’ll always be this way.”
“My family’s also insane. I like insane families.”
Well, you see, officer, I didn’t see that stop sign or your lights because all I could think about was my girlfriend, who isn’t really my girlfriend, but she sure as fuck feels like my girlfriend going on a date with another man.
and if she wasn’t already mine, I’d do whatever I could in my power to make it that way.
But I’ve never been one to listen to my own advice.
I hate having good friends.
But sometimes you want a change in scenery for your mental breakdowns, you know?
You deserve your raunchy romance book ending.”
I’m crazy in love with this crazy woman.
He works to make the world fit me instead of asking me to fit into the world.
Up is down and left is right and red is green and Victor Brandt loves me.
“You’re a fucking walking red flag!”
