Someone in a summer dress asked me if I preferred men or books.
“Books, my dear, every time. They will take you to a lot more interesting places.”
I was being facetious, of course. Men are necessary, but you can’t put them down and come back to them as easily as a book.
The pressure is mounting because the money my grandfather left me is rapidly running out.
There is nothing else for it, I’m going to have to get a job or marry a man, preferably one with an excess of funds.
I think I prefer the first option, but what to do?
I have a reasonable education, although I’ve failed to keep up the friendships from that time in the way that men do — networking, I think they call it.
I’m pretty, and I speak well enough, and I can type, but I never admit to it.
I’m well-read, although I’m not sure how that will help me. I guess I shall have to find out.
The ‘summer dress’ argued with me, passionately. Men are wonderful things, apparently.
I suppose I know a few decent men.
My grandfather adored me, hence the inheritance.
My father likes me, although you would not hear him say so.
My brother is the finest man I know, but they won’t let you marry your brother, which always seemed absurd to me. I understand the bit about two-headed babies resulting from such a union, but I’ve never felt the need for children, so no problem there.
Sadly, my brother did not return from his stint at ‘King and Country’, so that avenue is pure fantasy. He really was the most delicious person, and I miss him. Something in me died when he didn’t come home.
In a way, I’ve been living the kind of independent life I know he would have lived.
Mustn’t get too maudlin, I have decisions to make and a life to live.
Maybe the ‘summer dress’ has a point.
On second thought, no, she hasn’t.
Books trump men every time.
Now, if I find a man who loves books, I’ll be in a quandary.