Blabbermouth Betty

Perhaps, just perhaps, it's a bit contradictory to broach this topic on an internet blog whilst one is in her underoos, drinking cherry wine and listening to ladytunes, and can barely contain her crush gush, but that's just how life is, isn't it miladies?

Mayhaps because I'm prone to a life of Chatty Cathies and a life of small town style gossip despite living in proper metropolitan locales, I've never been that mortified when people spread the secrets I finally spill... and yet... I'm feeling a bit cuckoo bananas over a boy and I'm not sure what to do. Should I remain hush hush or proclaim it from the steeples of my local churches? Methinks I may have just spilled just a bit too much this evening and let the proverbial pussy out of the bag, as it were. I can tell that my own right hand gal pal is stunned by this and can hardly believe my betrayal of my own shyness. Especially in light of the fact that we are living in the kind of world that resembles a game of telephone, minus the misunderstandings.. strike that... replete with as many misunderstandings as any other telephone game.

I can't help but push that envelope and bring up the name of mon amour du jour. Shit, I'm practically standing on the post office counter jamming it into people's faces. What can I say? I am highly dysfunctional in love. I live in secret, hiding my true feelings, even from myself, until my emotions burst forth, like the waters held back by a mighty dam, and I'm practically tattooing it on my face like a walking advertisement.

Christ, I'm completely loony tunes. What can a gal do but dream of a boy who dreams of a ladyfriend who sits around musing on the net in her vintage underpinnings and betrays all the feminist teachings she's meant to embody by wishing of days spent in the kitchen in a pretty dress serving up martinis and winking over French cookery?

When did "boy meets girl" become a tragi-comedy?