Rien n’y fait

I’ve been trying to appeal to my basest instincts.

First, I’ve counted, added, multiplied: the amount I’ve shelled out on plane tickets over the past 18 months. Scary, and yet I don’t care; and I would do it again in a heartbeat.

Then, I have tried to compile lists:

She doesn’t like French pop. I mean, come on!
She says ‘I have needs’.
She laughs at her own jokes.
She takes ages in the shower.
She has a propensity to be condescending.
With trainers and short trousers, she won’t roll down her socks and it looks geeky.
She likes small dogs. The yappy Lapsang Souchong kind. She’d like four of them, and put bows in their hair. I wouldn’t even have them on a skewer.

This is just not working very well.