Fake Mates Quotes

Very few people mate for life with the people they fall for at twelve. Doesn't mean is isn't real, doesn't mean it doesn't hurt, doesn't mean it doesn't matter, but basically, we're talking a practice swing in the big game of love.

Because when I’m with you . . . I don’t feel like I’m just going through the motions in life. When I’m with you . . . I feel like I’m actually living.

She gave his fake boob a poke. "What the hell is in here?" He laughed and pulled the top down part of the way to reveal a grapefruit. She groaned onto her hands. "Hey, I know it's been a while since I've seen a real tit up close, but I think I remember the basic shape. What would you have used?" "Oh, hell, Michael,I have no idea what a man uses to stuff a maid's uniform. Where did you get it anyways?" Another of his shit-eating grins lit his face. "From the plus sized section of the lingerie store in Sweedesboro. I'm a woman's extra large." He was so proud of the fact that she laughed until her side ached.

We drive down the road in complete silence for a few miles listening to 50 Cent. As soon as he tells us that he's into having sex, he ain't into making love, Casey turns the volume down and begins telling me the following information: " I love you so much. We're going to have the best life together. I can't wait." Every word she says makes me feel a little more like faking a stroke and pretending to lose all memory of who I was, but it's not until she looks me in the eye and says in all seriousness, "You're my soul mate," that I realize I am not going to marry her.

When you see her, suddenly it’s not the earth holding you here anymore. She does.” “Is this a Twilight reference?” “Eclipse, actually, and don’t look so judgy. I’m not going to justify my obsession with the series to you again.

I'm a five-star kind of gal. " Your favorite food is soup,

That’s the funny thing about love, Noah. It’s terrifying, and there are no guarantees. We don’t fall in love because it’s a sure thing. We fall in love because our hearts don’t speak the same language as our brains. Your heart doesn’t have that little voice that worries about what-ifs. It sees something good and it goes all in. Sometimes you just have to listen to your heart more than your head.

Given all the stress and pressure, some people would fake it. They’d want to join the club, so they’d get together with another lonely person and stage a fake soul mate encounter. They’d marry, hide their relationship problems, and struggle to present a happy face to their friends and family.

Once you go knot you’ll . . . want for . . . not.

We don't fall in love because it's a sure thing. We fall in love because our heart don't speak the same language as our brains.

You're a big stupid genius with good intentions and bad execution.

Moira Carter is a delightful nightmare. It’s really the only way I can describe her.

To my oldest friend, who at the time of publication of this book most likely still hasn’t finished it because of the “weird wolfy shit.” I love you, asshole. You don’t know what you’re missing.

I've pegged him as some celibate sourpuss who gets by with angry masturbation on the weekends,

You can’t fake your way into an authentic, soul-deep relationship.

Oh, so now you’ve got multifaceted deceptions going on? Whipping ourselves up a tomfoolery tiramisu, are we?

Just shut up and kiss me.

I don't know if I take more issue with 'sex gift basket' or you calling me cute.

Sometimes you just have to listen to your heart more than your head.

You're the only one I've ever wanted, and you're the only one I will ever want.

What if he tries to lay some wolfy claim on you?

Is this a Twilight reference?” “Eclipse, actually,

If you could tell they were fake,” said Crake, “it was a bad job. These butterflies fly, they mate, they lay eggs, caterpillars come out.” “Mm,” said Jimmy again.

Eating on the job?” he asked, pointing at the remainder of the sandwich in my hand. To counter that, I pointed at the sign on the door behind him. “We're closed.” “Oh.” He scratched the back of his neck. “You should really lock the door when you're closed.” “Yeah, I know. I keep expecting people who come to my bookstore to be able to read. My mistake.” “Oh, burn! Okay, you win this round.

Find Mundungus Fletcher?” he croaked. “And bring him here, to Grimmauld Place,” said Harry. “Do you think you could do that for us?” As Kreacher nodded and got to his feet, Harry had a sudden inspiration. He pulled out Hagrid’s purse and took out the fake Horcrux, the substitute locket in which Regulus had placed the note to Voldemort. “Kreacher, I’d, er, like you to have this,” he said, pressing the locket into the elf’s hand. “This belonged to Regulus and I’m sure he’d want you to have it as a token of gratitude for what you--” “Overkill, mate,” said Ron as the elf took one look at the locket, let out a howl of shock and misery, and threw himself back onto the ground. It took them nearly half an hour to calm down Kreacher, who was so overcome to be presented with a Black family heirloom for his very own that he was too weak at the knees to stand properly. When finally he was able to totter a few steps they all accompanied him to his cupboard, watched him tuck up the locket safely in his dirty blankets, and assured him that they would make its protection their first priority while he was away. He then made two low bows to Harry and Ron, and even gave a funny little spasm in Hermione’s direction that might have been an attempt at a respectful salute, before Disapparating with the usual loud crack.

Let’s just say it straight out—recreational dating doesn’t work. Even a committed long-term relationship, as the saying goes, often leaves people feeling like they lost out. Over and over again, I’ve seen it with dating couples: they sleep together, they eat together, they have a cell-phone plan together—basically it’s a fake marriage with everything but the covenant. But all that makes the relationship harder to get out of than it was to get into. The breakup, when it finally comes, is traumatic. Instead of finding a lifetime mate, they’ve lost so much.

Though they could be affectionate to other monkeys, few were able to mate as adults, and those who did have offspring were not able to take care of them properly. Clearly, the lack of normal response from their fake mothers, and their isolation from other monkeys, had made them socially backward. They

It was safe to talk to yourself because of the roar you were subsumed in, besides being alone. I fragmented. One sense I had was that I was going to die sometime anyway. Another was that the falls were something you could never apply the term fake or stupid to. This has to be animism, was another feeling.

Footsteps from the stairwell startle him out of the past. He turns around as Emma's mother takes the last step into the dining area, Emma right behind her. Mrs. McIntosh glides over and puts her arm around him. The smile on her face is genuine, but Emma's smile is more like a straight line. And she's blushing. "Galen, it's very nice to meet you," she says, ushering him into the kitchen. "Emma tells me you're taking her to the beach behind your house today. To swim?" "Yes, ma'am." Her transformation makes him wary. She smiles. "Well, good luck with getting her in the water. Since I'm a little pressed for time, I can't follow you over there, so I just need to see your driver's license while Emma runs outside to get your plate number." Emma rolls her eyes as she shuffles through a drawer and pulls out a pen and paper. She slams the door behind her when she leaves, which shakes the dishes on the wall. Galen nods, pulls out his wallet, and hands over the fake license. Mrs. McIntosh studies it and rummages through her purse until she produces a pen-which she uses to write on her hand. “Just need your license number in case we ever have any problems. But we’re not going to have any problems, are we, Galen? Because you’ll always have my daughter-my only daughter-home on time, isn’t that right?” He nods, then swallows. She holds out his license. When he accepts it, she grabs his wrist, pulling him close. She glances at the garage door and back to him. “Tell me right now, Galen Forza. Are you or are you not dating my daughter?” Great. She still doesn’t believe Emma. If she won’t believe them anyway, why keep trying to convince her? If she thinks they’re dating, the time he intends to spend with Emma will seem normal. But if they spend time together and tell her they’re not dating, she’ll be nothing but suspicious. Possibly even spy on them-which is less than ideal. So, dating Emma is the only way to make sure she mates with Grom. Things just get better and better. “Yes,” he says. “We’re definitely dating.” She narrows her eyes. “Why would she tell me you’re not?” He shrugs. “Maybe she’s ashamed of me.” To his surprise, she chuckles. “I seriously doubt that, Galen Forza.” Her humor is short lived. She grabs a fistful of his T-shirt. “Are you sleeping with her?” Sleeping…Didn’t Rachel say sleeping and mating are the same thing? Dating and mating are similar. But sleeping and mating are the same exact same. He shakes his head. “No, ma’am.” She raises a no-nonsense brow. “Why not? What’s wrong with my daughter?” That is unexpected. He suspects this woman can sense a lie like Toraf can track Rayna. All she’s looking for is honesty, but the real truth would just get him arrested. I’m crazy about your daughter-I’m just saving her for my brother. So he seasons his answer with the frankness she seems to crave. “There’s nothing wrong with your daughter, Mrs. McIntosh. I said we’re not sleeping together. I didn’t say I didn’t want to.” She inhales sharply and releases him. Clearing her throat, she smoothes out his wrinkled shirt with her hand, then pats his chest. “Good answer, Galen. Good answer.” Emma flings open the garage door and stops short. “Mom, what are you doing?” Mrs. McIntosh steps away and stalks to the counter. “Galen and I were just chitchatting. What took you so long?” Galen guesses her ability to sense a lie probably has something to do with her ability to tell one. Emma shoots him a quizzical look, but he returns a casual shrug. Her mother grabs a set of keys from a hook by the refrigerator and nudges her daughter out of the way, but not before snatching the paper out of her hand.

He peered up at the house. “I know you’re finished in there, Blake. May as well come out.” I breathed a silent sigh. Blake strolled onto the deck wearing low-slung skater shorts and flip-flops. Being shirtless must’ve been mandatory in California. I kind of wished they’d get dressed so I could focus properly when I told them about the prophecy. Blake joined us beside the pool. “So . . . ,” said Blake, rocking back on his heels. “Lover’s quarrel over?” “We’re not lovers,” Kaidan and I said together. “What’s stopping you?” Blake smiled. “What’s stopping you and Ginger?” Kaidan asked. “An ocean, man. Fu—” He glanced at me. “Uh . . . eff you.” “Eff me?” Kaidan asked, grinning. “No, eff you, mate.” Blake put a fist over his mouth when he caught what must have been a seething look on my face, and he laughed, punching Kaidan in the arm. “Told you, man! She’s pissed about the cursing thing! Ginger was right.” I shook my head. I wouldn’t look at them. I was too humiliated to deny it. “Girl, all you have to do is say the word, and Mr. Lusty McLust a Lot here will be happy to whisper some dirty nothings in your ear.” Kaidan half grinned, sexuality rolling off him as wild as the Pacific below us. I took a shaky breath. “I don’t appreciate when people are fake with me.” I pointed this statement at Kaidan. Okay, calling him a fake was overboard, especially if he was just being respectful. But my feelings were bruised and battered. If Kai wasn’t going to forgive me or be willing to talk, I couldn’t hang around and deal with his bad attitude. It hurt too much, and the unfairness frustrated me to no end. “If you guys will sit down and shut up for a minute, I’ll tell you what I came here to say, and then I’m out of here. You two can find someone else to make fun of.” They both wiped the smiles from their faces. I pulled a padded lawn chair over and sat. They moved a couple of chairs closer, giving me their attention. 

Worried about fitting in, being part of a group, feeling accepted? People gather in groups of similar interests, but these interests are usually based on external preferences and attires. “We think that if other people like this sport or activity, they’ll accept us without an interview or further questions, and we need that because we are afraid of standing naked in front of others, of showing whom we really are underneath the fake smiles and bland expressions of anger and pain: this nakedness is one of the heart and mind. “It’s within these groups that most people find their ‘soul-mates’ and ‘fall in love’ with the person they’ll never get to know for real. “Little did you know, you have to keep pretending to be someone else, while your partner is exhausted from having to put on a daily show just to please you.

We’ll be there, Harry,” said Ron. “What?” “At your aunt and uncle’s house,” said Ron. “And then we’ll go with you wherever you’re going.” “No —” said Harry quickly; he had not counted on this, he had meant them to understand that he was undertaking this most dangerous journey alone. “You said to us once before,” said Hermione quietly, “that there was time to turn back if we wanted to. We’ve had time, haven’t we?” “We’re with you whatever happens,” said Ron. “But mate, you’re going to have to come round my mum and dad’s house before we do anything else, even Godric’s Hollow.” “Why?” “Bill and Fleur’s wedding, remember?” Harry looked at him, startled; the idea that anything as normal as a wedding could still exist seemed incredible and yet wonderful. “Yeah, we shouldn’t miss that,” he said finally. His hand closed automatically around the fake Horcrux, but in spite of everything, in spite of the dark and twisting path he saw stretching ahead for himself, in spite of the final meeting with Voldemort he knew must come, whether in a month, in a year, or in ten, he felt his heart lift at the thought that there was still one last golden day of peace left to enjoy with Ron and Hermione.

I believe there are many different ways for a soul mate to manifest in our lives. “Sometimes they are a lover. Sometimes they are a friend. Sometimes they even first appear as an enemy. Sometimes they can move through all three of those relationships at different times in our lives. I actually believe we all have many soul mates out there in the world, and that we may not find all of them in this current life.

All I know for sure is there are some souls who find a home with other souls—sometimes for years, sometimes for life, sometimes for not very long at all. I believe a soul mate is someone who makes you more you just by being themselves. I think some souls just burn brighter when they’re together.

The attitude that homosexual activity is not "genuine" sexual, courtship, or pair-bonding behavior is also sometimes made explicit in the descriptions and terminology used by researchers... This attitude is also encoded directly in the words used for homosexual behaviors: rarely do animals of the same sex ever simply "copulate" or "court" or "mate" with one another (as do animals of the opposite sex). Instead, male walruses indulge in "mock courtship" with each other, male African elephants and gorillas have "sham matings", while female sage grouse and male hanuman langurs and common chimpanzees engage in "pseudo-matings". Musk-oxen participate in "mock copulations", mallard ducks of the same sex form "pseudo-pairs" with each other, and blue-bellied rollers have "fake" sexual activity. Male lions engage in "feigned coitus" with one another, male orang-utans and savanna baboons take part in "pseudo-sexual" mountings and other behaviors, while mule deer and hammerheads exhibit "false mounting"... Even the use of the term 'homosexual' is controversial. Although the majority of scientific sources on same-sex activity classify the behavior explicitly as "homosexual" - and a handful even use the more loaded terms 'gay' or 'lesbian' - many scientists are nevertheless loath to apply this term to any animal behavior. In fact, a whole "avoidance" vocabulary of alternate, and putatively more "neutral", words have come into use... The use of "alternate" words such as 'unisexual' is sometimes advocated precisely because of the homophobia derived by the term 'homosexual': one scientist reports that an article on animal behavior containing 'homosexual' in its title was widely received with a "lurid snicker" by biologists, many of whom never got beyond the "sensationalistic wording" of the title to actually read its contents.

I need a mate.

But she wasn’t, and here she was again in the middle of a situation that called for fake smiles and bullshitting, two talents that were as alien to her as a Klingon mating dance.

Ignoring all the whispering couples around him, Vaughn taught me to bowl while I faked like I cared. We were both on the outs and I suspected he wanted to find a new buddy now that Judd was attached to his angel. Every time Tawny laughed, Vaughn’s frown darkened. “You should be happy for them,” I said as he guided me towards the alley. “I am. Fucking overwhelmed with happiness. Now, pay attention.” When I flinched at his tone, Vaughn sighed. “It gets boring when your best friend is busy mating like a rabbit.” “My best friend ditched me too, so I found new friends. Maybe you should too.” “Crap no. Sounds like too much effort.” I grinned. “You could play with Bailey. Here, she comes.” Vaughn didn’t even glance at the arriving blonde who threw her hands in the air. “I got dumped again! Men suck! I hate them all!” she cried, enjoying a hug from Tawny. “Who wants to set me up now?” “I thought you hated men,” Tucker mumbled with his mouth full of a hot dog. “I do, but one of them has got to work, right? Everyone in the world gets someone good, but I get shit. It’s not fair. I’m nicer than anyone ever.” This comment elicited laughter from the crew including Vaughn who took my bowling ball and rolled it for me. “Look,” he said,” you got a strike. I’m an excellent teacher.” “Best ever.

The personal statements were all over the place, but if she had to use one word to sum them up, it would probably be treacle. The first read, “Every morning, life is a blank canvas waiting to be painted”—click. Some aimed for honesty by telling you repeatedly that they were honest. Some faked sincerity. Some were highfalutin or showboating or insecure or needy. Just like real life, when Kat thought about it. Most were simply trying too hard. The stench of desperation came off the screen in squiggly, bad-cologne waves. The constant soul-mate talk was, at best, off-putting. In real life, Kat thought, none of us can find someone we want to go out with more than once, yet somehow we believe that on YouAreJustMyType.com, we will instantly find a person we want to wake up next to for the rest of our lives. Delusional—or does hope spring eternal? This

Myron carefully folded the paper and put it on the coffee table. He stood with a sigh and headed down the corridor. He flicked off the lights as he went. He passed his parents’ bedroom. The reading lamp was still on. His father faked a cough to let Myron know he was there. “I’m fine,” he said out loud. His father did not respond, and Myron was grateful. The man was like a master on the tightrope, managing the nearly impossible feat of showing he cared without butting in or interfering. Jessica Culver, the love of his life, the woman he’d always believed was his destined soul mate, was getting married. Myron wanted to sleep on that one. But sleep would not come.

Aren’t we waiting for Lori?” Jonah asked. Toby didn’t turn around as he answered. “Nah, she isn’t coming. We’ll meet up with her later today.” Great. Lori was too pissed to see him and Toby was like Antarctica. Jonah still wasn’t completely sure why they were so angry, given the fact that Zev hadn’t told anyone back home about their relationship. Well, there was one option; his old friends weren’t comfortable with him being gay. Tough shit. Jonah figured the best way to deal with the situation was to face it head-on. But as soon as they got into Jonah’s car, Toby started fiddling with the radio. Jonah decided to bide his time and wait for Toby to finish what he was doing so they could talk. He almost lost his composure when the other man landed on a Barry Manilow song and kept it there. Toby had to be the only Fanilow under the age of fifty. “So I’m guessing Lori told you about that guy in my apartment last night.” Toby’s posture immediately stiffened. Several long moments passed before he answered. “Yeah, she did.” “Anything you want to ask me about it, Toby? Might as well get it out there. No reason to walk on eggshells around each other.” “Ooookay,” Toby responded, drawing out the word. He took a deep breath and turned to face Jonah. “Did you stumble across a clearance sale on jackass cream or something? Maybe they were running a special on lobotomies?” Well, that was an unexpected response. “Huh? Whatta you mean?” “What I mean, Jonah…,” Toby said in a louder voice, “is that I know we’re all just a couple of bad decisions away from being one of those weirdos who buys fake nuts and hangs them on the back of his pickup truck, but you really managed to win the stupid cake last night.” Okay, this conversation wasn’t going exactly how Jonah had planned, but he still felt the need to defend himself. “Stupid? Why? Because I’m gay? That’s not a bad decision, Toby. It’s not a decision at all.” Jonah pulled into a parking lot of a decent diner, turned off the car, and turned to face Toby. The conversation was tense and awkward, but at least Toby’s atrocious music was no longer making Jonah’s ears bleed. Jonah would have preferred hearing his car engine drop out and drag across the asphalt than another cheesy ballad. “No shit, Sherlock. But cheating on Zev is a decision. A really bad decision.” Jonah’s mouth dropped open, and he snapped his eyes toward Toby in shock. Holy crap. Toby knew about his relationship with Zev. That meant Lori knew. As much as he hated being hidden from Zev’s family and life back in Etzgadol, Jonah didn’t want the man to be forced out against his will. “You know?” “Know what?” “About, um, me and Zev?” Toby rolled his eyes. “Of course I know. Just because I was blessed in the looks department doesn’t mean I was shorted anything upstairs. I’m not an idiot, Jonah.

Because when I’m with you . . . I don’t feel like I’m just going through the motions in life. When I’m with you . . . I feel like I’m actually living.

I've pegged him as some sourpuss who gets by with angry masturbation on the weekends,

Dear Black Man (Poem) ***** I love you because you make me feel things that I have never felt before. You erase my pain and you bring me so much gain. You embrace me and hide me in your well built African and manly body. You make me want to never look at other bodies. I love how you cut your hair. I love to feel your love in the air. The texture of your hair, so beautiful, so artistic. Your beautiful smile, so amazing; it reminds me of hiding places. You walk like you own the world; at least, I assure you that you own mine and the rest of my words. Black Man, you are beautiful. Your skin tone is so dark, it makes me want to bark. Please allow me to run my hands on the hills of that skin. You are handsome, my amazing king. The way you speak your language. The way you speak your Xhosa. Your Hausa. Your Zulu. Your Kituba. Your Tswana. Your Lingala. Your Venda. Your Gadomba. Your Tsonga. Your Shona. Your Bateke. Your Ga. Your Sotho. Your Igbo. Your eyes. Black Man, your eyes tell me a story never heard before. You teach me; from your wisdom, I learn. From your strength, I know 'I can'. Black Man, they enslaved you because they found you intimidating. But today, they look for you to be their mate in dating. You look at my stretchmarks with an eye of an artist. You appreciate my big behind with no judgement. You kiss my big lips with love. And in my big thighs, you hide. You love me when I have no hair. You love me when I have fake hair. Black Man, I thought of you and I wrote to you. All hail the Black king! From your Black Woman, (with African curves) .

tomfoolery tiramisu,

If anyone so much as touches you while you’re wearing a dress like that, they’ll find a lightning bolt embedded in their chest.

Honey,” Adrian drawled, leaning down to brush a strand of hair out of my face and tuck it behind my ear. My heart took off like a racehorse. “It’s best you realize now how incredibly serious I am about you.

You know you turn into a total caveman in bed, right?” Zack laughs, kneeling next to me on the floor. “He’s all ‘Kneel. Lick. Blow.’ I know you can do whole sentences, mate. You’re well clever.

Fuck you Gabriel,” I hissed. “If you wanted to help me you’d give me the truth about what happened between you and my brother not fake promises of help. If you wanted to help then you should have done so when Gareth needed you. But I guess you only help girls you have bullshit visions about. Although you really shouldn’t worry about being my Elysian Mate. Because I’d rather be star-crossed than stuck with you for the rest of my life.

Displays of love, commitment, and devotion signal a man is willing to channel his time, energy, and effort to her in the long run. Men attempt to deceive women by feigning an interest in commitment to achieve a quick sexual score. They also feign confidence, status, kindness, and resources that they lack. Men try to abscond with the sexual benefit without paying the cost of commitment. In the human mating dance, the costs of being deceived about a potential mate's resources and commitment are carried more heavily by women. Historically, a woman who made a poor choice of a casual mate, allowing herself to be deceived about the man's long-term intentions, risked enduring pregnancy, childbirth, and child care unaided and being less able to attract an alternative mate, since existing children are seen as costs by potential mates on the mating market. Women guard against deception by requiring extended courtship. Commitment is difficult and costly to fake, because commitment is gauged from repeated signals over time. Men who seek to deceive women about their ultimate intentions because they are interested only in sex are typically unlikely to invest in extended courtship. They go elsewhere for sex partners who are more readily available.

Another circumstance that might evoke a man’s jealousy is his inability to sexually satisfy his partner. Over evolutionary time, women mated to men they found sexually wanting sometimes sought satisfaction in another man’s arms, either temporarily through an affair or permanently through divorce and remarriage. This ancestral condition may have sculpted a psychological sensitivity in men to their ability to sexually satisfy their wives. A man’s concern over his wife’s sexual orgasm is sometimes attributed to “masculine insecurity.” But it may instead reflect an accurate perception that her lack of satisfaction may lead her to leave. The phenomenon of women “faking orgasm” may symbolically assure the husband of sexual fidelity. The psychiatric record is filled with cases depicting men’s insecurity about their ability to satisfy their wives.

D’you think Scotland’s going to leave?” “Go for independence? Maybe,” said Strike. “The polls are close. Barclay thinks it could happen. He was telling me about some old mates of his at home. They sound just like Polworth. Same hate figures, same promises everything’ll be rainbows and unicorns if only they cut themselves free of London. Anyone pointing out pitfalls or difficulties is scaremongering. Experts don’t know anything. Facts lie. ‘Things can’t be any worse than they are.’” Strike put several chips in his mouth, chewed, swallowed, then said, “But life’s taught me things can always get worse than they are. I thought I had it hard, then they wheeled a bloke onto the ward who’d had both his legs and his genitals blown off.” He’d never before talked to Robin about the aftermath of his life-changing injury. Indeed, he rarely mentioned his missing leg. A barrier had definitely fallen, Robin thought, since their whisky-fueled talk in the dark office. “Everyone wants a single, simple solution,” he said, now finishing his last few chips. “One weird trick to lose belly fat. I’ve never clicked on it, but I understand the appeal.” “Well, reinvention’s such an inviting idea, isn’t it?” said Robin, her eyes on the fake hot-air balloons, circling on their prescribed course. “Look at Douthwaite, changing his name and finding a new woman every few years. Reinventing a whole country would feel amazing. Being part of that.” “Yeah,” said Strike. “Of course, people think if they subsume themselves in something bigger, and that changes, they’ll change too.” “Well, there’s nothing wrong with wanting to be better, or different, is there?” asked Robin. “Nothing wrong with wanting to improve things?” “Not at all,” said Strike. “But people who fundamentally change are rare, in my experience, because it’s bloody hard work compared to going on a march or waving a flag. Have we met a single person on this case who’s radically different to the person they were forty years ago?

Abominable Ass of Colorado

At least tell me if there's going to be a happy ending,” he said, peering into my eyes. My heart beat faster, feeling his absolute attention on me. “It's a romance novel.” “Not all romances end well.” “No, but in romance novels they do, at least in the good ones.

All genres are worth perusing,” Zander said without missing a beat. “I don't believe in declaring a whole subset of novels unworthy. You never know what treasures you might be missing.

In sum, fitness indicators do the voodoo that they do so well because they are condition dependant: that is, only individuals in good condition, with good genes, can produce a high quality indicator. Conversely, individuals with high mutation loads are compelled to show off their poor quality fitness indicators. If fitness is faked, the receiver will find out by having poor-quality offspring; competitive peers will find out through size-comparisons; the gazelle will be made dinner; and the object of poetic affection may decide that your hyperbole is showing. Thus, in principle, both sexes have incentives to favor mates who display high-quality fitness indicators and to avoid mates who display low-quality indicators. In practice, males are typically choosy about female fitness indicators only when they invest substantial effort and resources in child-rearing, as do socially monogamous birds and humans. Female choice for male fitness indicators is much more common across species.

Displays of love, commitment, and devotion signal a man is willing to channel his time, energy, and effort to her in the long run. Commitment is difficult and costly to fake, because commitment is gauged from repeated signals over time. Men who are interested only in sex are unlikely to invest this much effort.

Displays of love, commitment, and devotion signal a man is willing to channel his time, energy, and effort to her in the long run. Men attempt to deceive women by feigning an interest in commitment to achieve a quick sexual score. They also feign confidence, status, kindness, and resources that they lack. Men try to abscond with the sexual benefit without paying the cost of commitment. In the human mating dance, the costs of being deceived about a potential mate's resources and commitment are carried more heavily by women. An ancestral woman who made a poor choice of a casual mate, allowing herself to be deceived about the man's long-term intentions, risked enduring pregnancy, childbirth, and child care unaided and being less able to attract an alternative mate, since existing children are seen as costs by potential mates on the mating market. Women guard against deception by requiring extended courtship. Commitment is difficult and costly to fake, because commitment is gauged from repeated signals over time. Men who seek to deceive women about their ultimate intentions are typically unlikely to invest in extended courtship. They go elsewhere for sex partners who are more readily available.

Conventional evolutionary theory assures us that all you scheming, gold-digging women reading this are evolved to trick a trusting yet boring guy into marrying you, only to then spray on a bunch of perfume and run down to the local singles club to try to get pregnant by some unshaven Neanderthal as soon as hubby falls asleep on the couch. How could you? But before male readers start feeling superior, remember that according to the same narrative, you evolved to woo and marry some innocent young beauty with empty promises of undying love, fake Rolex prominent on your wrist, get her pregnant ASAP, then start “working late” with as many secretaries as you can manage. Nothing to be proud of, mister.

If they were searching for books with tropes like enemies to lovers, second chance romance, morally gray heroes, fated mates, vampire royalty, fake relationships, jilted brides, love triangles, forced proximity, or reverse harem… I was the ghostess with the mostest. If they wanted recommendations for books with the most unique male anatomy… I held the world’s only PHD on the subject. And by PHD, I meant I was the Poltergeist of Hung Dudes. Or was it Phantom of Huge Dicks?

We both know you're always looking for things to be wrong with someone, because finding something right with them would mean opening yourself up to something that you can't control.