I have been indoctrinated into the ways of the single woman and her shopping habits. Sipping a mimosa over breakfast (yes I drink before noon and some days well before 10am—and who am I kidding about the sipping?), I plotted out a busy day of shopping with a friend. Told I should acquire an array of sexy lingerie and a vibrator, we thus went about town with that mission in mind. I must be dyslexic because I came away with only one set of qualifying underwear and an arsenal of sex toys instead. Ah well.
Lately I’ve been given a hard time by a few thinking I should be out there dancing on tables and taking to bed any warm body available. But that’s not really my style is it? Very déclassé that. I have standards, values, taste…and I don’t think casual sex would be very fulfilling. At any rate, I’m not that girl. And since I have a lot to work through with myself before becoming properly involved, I have sided with Woody Allen on this one, which is, sex with yourself is sex with someone you love.