For the first time

I'm not sea-green with jealousy. There's nothing that does not suffer a sea-change into something marvelous and strange. My jealous intoxicating whine's been watered down. Like French children I'll drink a less potent draught and stay steeped in sociabili-tea strong enough for British afternoon parlors. A wave of reason has broke on the beach of emotion I am often stranded upon; some not flirting might mark some other page than a blank lack of interest. And their interest, the play-flirting that they practice on other "girls" before the heroine arrives, may not be worth as much as a hill of refried beans in my world. To tacos topped with salsa and spicy security.