She was the kind of woman who said, “I hope this special day is infused with beauty and light and that all your hopes and dreams crystallize into a loving reality emanating from an equally loving universe.” He would have been more comfortable if she just said. “Happy birthday.”
He was the kind of man who said. ”Whenever I see one of those tired, middle-aged, balding schmucks pushing a baby carriage down street behind this thirty-year old, yoga-fed, Pilate-sized, armoire shopping , second wife, I can’t help but feel a wave of pity for the poor, toad-like bastard.” She would have been more comfortable if he just said. “I don’t really want more kids.”
She was the kind of woman who said. ”What difference does it make if I’ve slept with rock stars, movie stars and sports legends? You measure up quite nicely to all those guys.” He would have been more comfortable if she just said. “Stand still while I stab you in the heart with my intrauterine device.”
He was the kind of man who said. ‘I’m a worn-out, emotional wreck who’s incapable of anything resembling warmth, love and intimacy, but I have a lot of money and you’ll never want for anything.” She would have been more comfortable if he just said… No, actually she was entirely comfortable with the way he put it. In other words, the way I put it.