Once upon a time, there was a woman who met a man who loved his dog. He didn’t always laugh at her jokes, the woman’s, but he found the dog to be boundlessly endearing. The woman tried and wished and hoped for the man’s attentions. She baked him knishes and cakes with real chocolate leaves from a real chocolate tree she hunted down in Willy Wonka’s private garden. She carved him a ring out of the branch of a fir tree, but he never wore it with any regularity. She wrote extravagant articulate proclamations of her affection, but to little avail. The man accepted every offering graciously and passionlessly. she cut her hair whitened her teeth, painted her face, changed her wardrobe, and started reading Sartre. She filled her life with colors and textures that he had expressed appreciation for in passing. And all the while he walked his dog and watched TV, perfectly contented. One day she read The Beauty Myth by Naomi Wolf and suddenly the man was an oaf. It is hard to exist in a world of extremes and meet with a world of nondescript complacency. What’s a girl to do? Don’t worry, though, she ends up happy. He stays oblivious. So i guess he ends up happy too.
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