Nora Ephron is dead. She is the woman who made millions by writing films that made millions of women cry their eyes out and believe in happy ends. Me they made hate Meg Ryan.
Anyway... the death wasn't entirely unexpected as she had terminal cancer. Now various newspapers have been publishing her notes regarding the imminent date with the Grim Reaper. She was funny. And she could have done so much better than that floppy-haired, perpetually perplexed-looking Meg Ryan with her incessant disbelieving head-shaking. And she could have done better than a philandering husband who she deemed would "have sex even with Venetian blinds".
She writes about regrets and things she would have like to have done. Which apparently include running around in a bikini, every day.
So, in order to ensure there are no regrets... the plane tickets have been bought. I made him him pay for them of course. God only knows how I'm going to make him pay for everything else...
My mind has been made up. I'm going ahead with this. I'll continue pursuing my own happy ending.
Stockholm, give me your best shot.
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