your lashes, catching the eye of the taxi driver, your best friend's husband, your gynaecologist, your Congressman, indeed your President, but don't blame me. I'm not saying it isn't worth it: I'm just saying be very, very careful. Or you'll be like poor Alex in Fatal Attraction, his wife appearing with a gun when all you'd ever wanted was a bit of acknowledgment: someone to say love matters. Let me say it for you, it does. Stop being so unhappy: get out of his life, find another, or you're dead.
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There's how people ought to be and how people are, and they're different. There's how to be happy in twelve easy lessons, and how it feels to be you. There's The Erotic Silence of the American Wife and Backlash and Madame Bovary and Women Who Love Too Much, and there's how it is to lie alone, night after night, while your life passes by: or know that your husband is in that creature's bed: or the blissful relief of lying where normally your best friend lies, in her bed with her husband, because she always seemed to be so much happier than you, and you were envious. There's the triumph of finally prising your so-boring mother and father apart, of wrecking someone else's marriageyour parents', metaphoricallyso that you win, and then moving on, smiling sweetly. There's all kinds of truths no one wants to know about, because they're painful, or don't show you up in a good light, so you'd rather forget. There's you in the good photograph with your makeup on, as you like to be, and the snapshot of you you hate the more because others say how like you it is, and you can't believe it. That overweight, smirking idiot looking more like your own mother than you ever believed possible. Enough to drive you into the arms of your neighbour's husband, anyone's, come to that.
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There's the early morning you in front of the mirror, patting on the moisturiser, trying new foundation, making the most of your eyes with browns and greens and the season's shades, pencilling in the lip-linersee the curve of the mouth, the sensuous line where lip meets non-lipnarcissus personified, or should it be narcissa? This face, this person, can it be me? Can this be the one I love? Perfect love?and there's you crammed up on the train on the way to work, protecting your person from grotesque others; you listening fearful to the footsteps which follow you home, can this be true love or attack? The lover with red roses or the apist on a date? That sensuous line between the two which no amount of pencilling can ever properly delineate. It's forever getting smudged to your disadvantage. Try another lip-liner: perhaps sharper, softer, deeper, brighter. Read Allure to see which one's best for you. But always keep the alleged self, the made-up self (notice the pun?) one step ahead of the real self, which you keep hidden from the world, and quite right too.
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