Sound Advice

M. dashes from the place where he has been hiding, rushes up to the girl from behind, and pinches her, hard, on the fleshy part of her waist. She yelps in her pain and annoyance, and takes a swing at him with her right arm, which he easily ducks. He stands a few feet away from her, just out of reach, flexing his knees rhythmically, swinging his arms, apelike, from side to side, and grinning stupidly. She, standing feet together, holding her arms close to her side, her fists clenched, and leaning forward slightly, shouts abuse at him. When the pain stops, she approaches him calmly with palms outstretched trying to take his hands in hers. Of course he leaps back, eager for play, and flashes his arms around. She persists. When she has his confidence, she draws him close to her and says: "You are a stranger to me, and you want me to notice you, don't you." M. begins to struggle but she restrains him and says "No, listen! I am a girl, and therefore I frustrate you: that is unavoidable. You want me and I ignore you; therefore you attack me - this way I notice you among the herd of unspecial men before me. But, my darling, you are driving me away from you, you with those pain-inflicting fingers of yours. Why not (this is the very key to the door of your problems) why not think what I might desire rather than be always preoccupied with your own wants? My darling, why not go away now and prove yourself? Why not get your head down and study for six years (or so) then try to get through the entrance door to Cambridge? No? Well however you mean to do it, you go away now, and return to me in ten years (or so) my darling, when you are in a position to fund the lifestyle I wish to enjoy? M. breaks free from her hands, and backs away with a couple of extreme shakes of the head, trying to rid himself of something, as the full horror of his inadequacy dawns.