Me and Mr. Darcy

I am a hopeless romantic. A silly, ridiculous, foolish romantic. I live in a fantasy land. I need to get real. And now, for the first time, I want to get real. I want a real relationship with a real man in the real world–-with all the real problems, faults, and whatever comes with it.

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single girl in possession of her right mind must be in want of a decent man.

Not doing anything can be worse than doing the wrong thing.

Because you will meet somebody more exceptional than anyone you have ever know. Who will love you warmly as possible. And who will so completely attract you that you will feel you never really loved before.

Sounds incredible? Hell, it does. But perhaps we all need to believe something incredible once in a while.

Books might be your passion but you can’t fuck a paperback.

Scooping up the dress, I slip it over my head, and as it cascades to the floor. I suck my stomach for all I'm worth. Forget staying in with a good book. This Cinderella is going to the ball.

I never know what I’m going to want to curl up in bed with.” I shrug. “How about a man?” she retorts.

To you I shall say, as I have often said before, 'Do not be in a hurry, the right man will come at last '. — Jane Austen

So, who is it?" Stella is persisting, somewhat suspiciously. "What's his name?" But if I don't tell her the truth, what do I say? My mind draws a blank. I don't want to lie to her- "um..." walking back to the bedroom, I notice the postcard Spike chose for me resting on my top of my dresser. I haven't written that one yet. Absently I pick it up and turn it over. On the back is written "Matthew Macfadyen as Fitzwilliam Darcy." "Fitzwilliam," I blurt. "No, what's his first name?" she asks. "That is his first name.