I Like You Very Much. Just As

Eventually, I Manage To Cheer Mum Up By Allowing Her To Go Through My Wardrobe And Criticize All My Clothes.

I Made My Excuses And Left, Thinking, Really, After A Certain Age, People Are Just Going To Do What They're Going To Do And You're Either Going To Accept Them As They Are Or You're Not.

You'll Never Get A Boyfriend If You Look Like You Wandered Out Of Auschwitz.

I'm No Good At Anything. Not Men. Not Social Skills. Not Work. Nothing.

Nobody Wants To Be Racist And I Think That Most People Aren't.