That's Something I Think Is Growing On

My Head Was A Magpie's Nest Lined With Such Bright Scraps Of Information.

For Years And Years I Thought That Stories Were Just Practice, Till I Got Time To Write A Novel.

I Can't Play Bridge. I Don't Play Tennis. All Those Things That People Learn, And I Admire, There Hasn't Seemed Time For. But What There Is Time For Is Looking Out The Window.

Now That I Think Of It, She Looked Splendid. I Wish I Had Met Her Somewhere Else. I Wish I Had Appreciated Her As She Deserved. I Wish That Everything Had Gone Differently.

She Could Not Explain Or Quite Understand That It Wasn't Altogether Jealousy She Felt, It Was Rage. And Not Because She Couldn't Shop Like That Or Dress Like That. It Was Because That Was What Girls Were Supposed To Be Like. That Was What Men - People, Everybody - Thought They Should Be Like. Beautiful, Treasured, Spoiled, Selfish, Pea-brained. That Was What A Girl Should Be, To Be Fallen In Love With. Then She Would Become A Mother And She'd Be All Mushily Devoted To Her Babies. Not Selfish Anymore, But Just As Pea-brained. Forever.