Three unsuccessful marriages, disappointment in love, plus young years and faith in personal happiness—all behind me. By the time I’m over thirty, my only advantages are a separate apartment and a job close to home. Loser!—someone might say, and possibly they wouldn’t be wrong. After all, luck doesn’t even come in the little things.
What could I possibly allow myself in the pre-holiday bustle? A little shopping trip. I might have dreamed of a new bag for half a year. And what? Give it to some brazen hussy? Not on your life! If you’ve grabbed a titmouse by the tail, you’ll reach even for the crane. Even if I have to send myself to it in another world.