TITLE: Blame it on Meryl
GENRE: New Adult Fiction
I’m Laura Sanders.
I’m a TV-producer.
I live in Los Angeles.
I’ve travelled the world.
I’m an only child.
I have a cat called Sartre.
I drive a Horizon Blue Mini Convertible.
I own 108 pair of shoes.
I’m a virgin.
The worst part of my pathetic sex- and relationshipless life is the constant pretending. Pretending to be normal. Fact is, everybody knows the drama of relationships, the passion, the pain. Not knowing makes you an utter and complete freak. Until some years ago I used to be honest and tell new friends that I was still a virgin and never had a boyfriend. Someday I’ll tell a stranger that I killed a person. Simply to see if that confession arouses a similar mortified look.
After the look there’s always the pity. And after the pity the good advice.
Good Advice Number One: Be dumb. Men don’t like smart women.
Good Advice Number Two: Be hard to get. Men still think like hunters.
Good Advice Number Three: Be a listener. Men need attention.
After the look and the pity and the good advice, there’s the worst part: the awkward silence. After all, everything everybody ever talks about are relationships. Who they met, who texted, called or wrote, or who didn’t, and what either implies. Who broke up with whom, who got engaged, who is pregnant, who had an affair, who is good in bed, who is hot, who looks cute … and of course one needs stories to contribute. So I make up stories.