p.s.

(in re: the post below)

There is nothing unexpected about the overConsumption of romance novels creating (what Troy McClure would call) a romantic abnormality, by the way; the unexpectedness in this instance comes from the very specific nature of the resultant problem. One very odd little thing. Not your obvious knight-on-white-horse sitch.

Oh, what could it be? (the people wonder) I'll tell you. It's one of these: a) I only date men who wear Hessian boots polished with champagne while I in turn don empire-waisted Eau de nil silk gowns that show off my slight, girlish--well, boyish--figure to distraction b) my romantic life is full of Three's Company plot twists and misunderstandings that should make me insane with impatience but instead make me sated with dysfunctional happiness c) every metaphor in my life has to do with horses d) none of the above.