![]() ![]() I'm not going to tell you - yet - how old I am or how many times I've been married. But now I know what passion costs, so it's hard to be quite so carefree anymore.īut was I ever carefree? Was anyone? Wasn't love always an exploding cigar? Didn't Gypsy Rose Lee say, "God is love, but get it in writing"? And didn't Fanny Brice say, "Love is like a card trick - once you know how it works, it's no fun anymore"? Those old broads knew a thing or two. I know I should fade away like a good old girl and spare my daughter the embarrassments of my passions, but I can't any more than I can conveniently die. Full of sound and fury signifying everything. It seemed that the things that had come to replace it - marriage, maternity, the wisdom of the mature woman (ugh, I hate that phrase) - weren't worth the candle. How strange that I only completely knew this power when it was gone - or transferred to my daughter, all male eyes on her nubile twentyish body, promising babies. Walking down the street, my mandolin-shaped ass swaying and swinging to their backward eyes. ![]()
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