Lately I can’t help wanting usto be like other people.For example, if I were a smoker,you’d lift a match to the cigarettejust as I put it between my lips.It’s never been like thatbetween us: none of thateasy chemistry, no quick, half automaticflares. Everything between ushad to be learned.Saturday finds me broodingbehind my book, all my fantasiesof seduction run upagainst the rocks.Tell me againwhy you don’t likesex in the afternoon?No, don’t tell me–I’ll never understand younever understand us, America’s strangestloving couple: they neverdrink a bottle of wine togetherand rarely look at each other.Into each other’s eyes, I mean.
Deborah Garrison, A Working Girl Can’t Win