He will play guitar and sing “I Taste A Liquor The rock-a-billy rhythm makes her smile.Įlvis likes himself with style. Forever.Įmily’s poems now contain naugahyde, Cadillacs,Įlectricity, jets, TV, Little Richard and Richard They take long walks and often hold hands. Levis and western blouses with rhinestones.Įlvis is lean again, wears baggy trousersĪnd T-shirts, a letterman’s jacket from Tupelo High. In heaven Emily wears her hair long, sports The Intermediate Sex: A Study Of Some Transitional Types Of Men And Women We know, in fact, of Friendships so romantic in sentiment that they verge into love we know of Loves so intellectual and spiritual that they hardly dwell in the sphere of Passion.” Women are beginning to demand that Marriage shall mean Friendship as well as Passion that a comrade-like Equality shall be included in the word Love and it is recognised that from the one extreme of a 'Platonic' friendship (generally between persons of the same sex) up to the other extreme of passionate love (generally between persons of opposite sex) no hard and fast line can at any point be drawn effectively separating the different kinds of attachment. “s people are beginning to see that the sexes form in a certain sense a continuous group, so they are beginning to see that Love and Friendship which have been so often set apart from each other as things distinct are in reality closely related and shade imperceptibly into each other. I mean I’m going to be here, annoying you, until we’re old ladies, sitting in the same care home, talking about putting on a Shakespeare because we’re all old and bored as shit.” I mean we’re gonna knock down the fence between our gardens so we have one big garden, and we can both get a dog and take turns looking after it.
I mean I’m going to be the one bringing you soup when you text me that you’re sick and can’t get out of bed and ferrying you to the doctor’s even when you don’t want to go because you feel guilty about using the NHS when you just have a stomach bug.
I mean I’m going to be crashing round yours every night for dinner because you know I can’t fucking cook to save my life, and if I’ve got kids and a spouse, they’ll probably come round with me, because otherwise they’ll be living on chicken nuggets and chips. I mean I’m going to pester you to buy a house next door to me when we’re forty-five and have finally saved up enough for our deposits. And I don’t mean that in the boring average meaning of ‘friend’ where we stop talking regularly when we’re twenty-five because we’ve both met nice young men and gone off to have babies, and only get to meet up twice a year. ‘Georgia, I am never going to stop being your friend.