Toothache Bruised Face

I just wanted a pair of shoes red ...

- Look, I brought my wedding dress!

My mother could not be more proud while handing me the dress of her most beautiful day, perfectly preserved. I look at him at the height of desperation: how do I explain to her that her dress is fantastic, but

a) E 'at most forty, or me there would come a calf.

b) has a high neck lace (oh Jesus ..) and is studded with exuberant pink flowers as big as grapefruits, tulle, satin or [@##° that I know, on what was once a skirt to Disney.

c) In essence it seems that the designer who has designed it knew of fashion as far as I know of particle accelerators.

And I should marry ... NOW! Shit.

- Mom, this dress does not fit. No later than in there.

- Do not want my wedding dress?

- No, Mama, do not put on this plane. It 's wonderful, but not before it's too tight.

- I think you should try ... E 'rubber band!

I'm desperate. My wonderful boyfriend is already waiting for me to church and I'm here, wearing a purple fleece overalls, slippers and a haircut with sheep at ground zero. And I have not a shred of clothing to wear.

course burst into tears. Stramerda shit. The happiest day of my life becomes a total failure because "I forgot" to choose the dress.

- Come on, come on. You can put this just for today. Search

to comfort my mother, as if "at the forthcoming marriage" things could get better.

- Mom, do not understand. I wanted a beautiful dress: light golden, very sexy, with a red strap and red shoes. I dream all my life, [@##°. But I forgot. I can not put your dress because I'm not there then it would always be "your dress, not mine. I will never marry, never ever. Nobody wants to marry someone who forgets to pick a dress [@##°! And even that comes in a sweater and jeans to church.

confess that the idea flashed in my mind for me is a second or two, accompanied by subtle excuse: well, if you really loved me would want to marry me, not my dress, right?

- you'll see that everything can be fixed.

seee, right. I bet he also told his mother the daughter of Marie Antoinette as the crowd swept into the square. My mother puts a hand on his shoulder. He wants to console me, but does not understand. He does not understand that my life is ruined forever, because I am leaving my wonderful boyfriend alone in church, waiting in vain for a living wonder that never comes. What would be the right choice: dig a hole and sotterrarcisi inside until the next ice age or so to go to church in jeans and a sweater, apologizing for the delay?

- so I can not get married, Mom. I can not, I can not.

- But why can not you? I told you that the dress is elastic. Try it. Then why do you want the red shoes? I've never seen anybody get married in the red shoes.

As if that meant no one has proven scientifically that it is impossible. He says this as if afraid that I would take fire to his feet just trying to cross the threshold of a church with a pair of red shoes.

I seem to hit a wall of rubber and I feel, for this reason, completely, deeply distressed immeasurably to the anguish that grips your throat like a pack of pit bulls with anger. The only person I would like to talk about is my boyfriend. I would cry on them as I usually do, but this time its not possible. Certainly not comfort me because I'm covering the face of ridicule to all the relatives and an unknown number of friends.

Somehow we find ourselves suddenly in the center, a store of wedding dresses. The owner, who seems to be the actress of "Legally Blonde", try to console me by saying that yes, a dress for me will find it in no time at all. I almost feel better in the middle of that riot of pink velvet, which is the room where we are accommodated.

- what size ports, dear?

- A forty-four.

The selling of wedding dresses bleach as if I had just run over the cat doing maneuver.

- We have forty-four. Here we have only forty and we just can not pack a forty-four within five minutes.

overflights sull'insulto I was just addressed.

- You have at least the red shoes?

course, as if put up in jeans and a pair of red Marlboro cleavage heel ten could change everything.

And so it was that this morning I woke with a start with my heart in my throat and tears in her eyes, just ten minutes before the alarm sounded on Monday morning. Shit.

That would sound the alarm a little later and it was already Monday morning, I realized only later. First I looked next to me: my wonderful boyfriend (because he really does exist, right?) Still deeply asleep, unaware of my inner drama. Only when I was truly touched to see that finally came back to reality.

Stupid Freudian paranoia.

Staff Writer

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Provincialotta I?

It all started with a train and a ticket to Milan. I went up on
Frecciabianca and I found myself surrounded by a million laptops Blackberry and in various shapes and colors. And they say that smoking is bad ... Sure, smoking is undoubtedly a bad habit, but we want to talk about the risks of having hundreds of laptops and Blackberry attached to the brain for more than four hours (counting round trip)? As if you could survive for a couple of hours without the internet ... I almost wanted to write on Facebook, since I have a cell phone connection with flat 24su24.
I was playing with an intention very clear (well, of course, the firm determination not to lose a syllable of the meeting of work that I should come): place me in the studios of Radio 105. I intended to make it in the early afternoon. I saw those in the Zoo, which I personally I do not like much, but would still see a piece of radio was that for five years now, keeps me company in the car every day.
Once I went out to Milan Central Station and, for the first time although it is clear that is not the first time I went to Milan, my eyes fell on the building which is located in front of the station, just to the right . "Look, look, the building of the Lombardy Region", I thought. And then: "I seem to remember that the Lombardy Region has moved into a skyscraper important ... wait ... was named ....". Then I had an illumination: " oh, Pirellone! . I had it under his eyes had somehow how many times and I never noticed.
My train arrived at nine and the business meeting was at ten. The time was just enough to make the trip from the station to the hotel. And of course I'm lost. The Google map
skimpy reported an average of one every ten name streets really thought I could do it? Luckily I have a good sense of direction. I do not know how, but at one point I almost bumped into the studios of Radio 105. Without meaning to, I swear. Like a good soldier I wanted to do first and then having the pleasure, but how to resist the studios of Radio 105 between seven and ten in the morning with Mark Galli in the studio?

I did not believe my eyes, but a bright red writing informed me that yes, it was all true: the boys were "on air". I know that I dream of cabbage, but it was still a dream nurtured for years that it was creating so much and sorry if I was numb down there, if I tried to peek through the curtains closed, if I went to it as a autofotografata ... provincialotta. And damn time tyrant, who made me leave before it ended the program in order to follow that pizzosissimo meeting.
do not know how I managed to reach the summit. Probably following a rabbit White, saw the state in which I was dreaming.
leave out the work, shall we?
After the meeting I went for a stroll in Piazza Duomo. Probably a lot of girls have thought I was lesbian, but I want to clarify that, as I wandered between the windows with upturned nose, eyes were "desirous" mine. I was simply assimilated! When recapitalization of running into so many unwitting fashion guru?
Yes, because Milan is "forward", in many ways. Fashion, but not all. Everything passes beyond the first, and then drops, delayed and restructured in the province where I live. It 'was a fascinating tour. The jaws around me and when I passed in front of a mega-store of Guess and Guess orologino I looked at my wrist, I felt myself part of a greater design. Wow, I was definitely designed to live in a big city. But, looking at those girls dressed very well with some rag Gap (yes, there is even Gap!) On him, sure of himself, with hairstyles simple and fantastic, I felt, for the first time in my life, definitely "provincialotta. I watched the Texans pies feet, are mirrored in the window of my brothers and Prada do not know, I had an unpleasant sensation.
I did not drown the sorrow in the shop, I saw that I could not afford anything of the above.
The only shopping that I was given medication, looking for a shampoo nowhere to be found in my little province. And drugs have witnessed the scene of a very small boy (although I admit that my perception is distorted age of the person from the minors when they got me a she) asked that the order information on condoms.

- You only have these? (the expert ...)
- Yes, we finished the others.
- You also have big boxes? (and we will never have to do? No, I do not want to know ...)
- larger ones are 12.
- How much? (Series: Let's see if I can with pocket money ...)
- 13 €.
- Ok, so a pack.

Yes, Milan is definitely "on." I, despite my advanced age, not entertain a pharmacist to talk about condoms. To snatch up the first that came to hand me and I go to the pharmacy before they can get someone I know.
On the way back I went back in the studios of Radio 105 and Alessandro Cattelan when I looked at the study (yes, it really happened) I looked away embarrassed and I continued to walk toward the station trying to mingle in a crowd that does not exist. I am definitely
province.

Staff Writer

Grope On Train Vidoes

I finished my first novel! The expectations trap

Going from my lunch I looked in the mirror and I was horrified that I have seen practically joined eyebrows, the skin as if I lived in a bunker away from direct sunlight in recent months , incipient herpes, a pimple next to the chin that seems to me is ticking by a whisker catfish and laddered tights right from half past nine in the morning (luckily only flesh-colored, otherwise I would have been very emotional for the whole day). Ossiggnoreggesù: I'm living from decomposing? Ah, no, it was only under pressure for some of these work and why ...

It 's normal that I have left a bit' go, do not you think? I certainly did not have time to pass the tweezers for eyebrows and make me a form to the active ions of fruit every night. Every night I "had to produce!

What satisfaction, folks. Yes, I know that until now only I know what it says, but I'm happy with myself.
It took me less than expected since I have been supported by excellent readings. In a sense we are what we read, I really thought you could write something brilliant, a couple of months ago, at the same time when I was reading "the hypnotist" Lars Kepler, a thriller in which the characters have pizzosissimo Ikea furniture names? Fortunately Lars Kepler has been replaced by Jenny Colgan and his fantastic "I open my eyes and think of you", then to Holly McBeal with "The Double Life of Isabel Bookbinder fantastic" and finally Karen Templeton with the extraordinary "that the casino, the my life! " (Remember only you can use words such as "transient" and "bombastic" in a script so ironic) and now here I am, but radiant woman destroyed, owner of a whole new novel.
My top five priorities now includes:

1) Tweezers for eyebrows.
2) Mask with cucumber.
3) A pair of new socks and not laddered.
4) A printer to use for what I have begun to call "copy zero.
5) Someone explain to me why should I pay 130 euro deposit to the SIAE for the unpublished work (26 euro per year to keep a sealed envelope on a shelf) when I use a simple recommendation and send a copy home zero (thanks Elisa!), where the shelf does not cost me anything: where's the catch?

Ah, yes, maybe I could have read my novel to someone, if your I advance the time. And maybe I could dispose of the months spent in front of the pc with a little 'exercise, so as to come into a forty just in time for the presentation of my new novel (Gee, can say what I like!). Even though I know that the move will be more likely to delegate to my "agent" the issue of the publication and putting them back in front of the PC to work on the second volume in the series. Why did I tell you that it will be a number, right?
So: all that I need to start a notebook is really, really tasty to keep in her purse.

Staff Writer

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anecdote about madness

How

Diana always amazes me once more. Told me an anecdote about the madness that I will not forget, and we would meet here at the service of those who will make something good.

spichiatrico In a hospital a patient is confined particular, its characteristic is to paint on the walls of the room, paint not to die, although as painting uses its own shit. Beautiful drawings of shit on the walls that need meticulous maids clean every day, nauseated by the smell of stale never clean a latrine. The shift spichiatra not know what to do, believe that cleaning the wall repeatedly, sooner or later will have to stay clean, he believes that insanity is a matter of consistency.
A day in the room the patient enters a new psychiatrist. Do not even look at the "sick" in the eyes, is too busy to observe the beauty of the painting on the wall. A painting done with the shit, but awesome. Not a grimace, not a sign of weakness for the smell that smashes the nostrils. Then he turns to the woman, and makes only one comment:
"It's really beautiful, although it lacks a little 'color'
" It's not my fault if I do not damage the paint, "replied the woman.

Who is crazy here? Most mental illnesses are the direct consequence of the stupidity of those who have the power to decide who is normal and who is not.

Why Doesnt Alexis Texas Do Black Guys

balance

In love relationships There are two types of people: the mules and thoroughbred. Mules are faithful companions in life, hard workers, obedient and domabile not dodge the whip of the master, and with humility and resignation do their duty, and always with devotion. The thoroughbred
are just the opposite. Degl'impareggiabili are sons of bitches, anarchists, selfish, unwilling to yoke, unpredictable, uncontrollable, but fucking powerful.
The mule is to find a balance of convenience, to perpetuate the illusion of stability, to disguise the change, denying it to extremes.
With a purebred you can ride with the wind in your face, feel God, but always run the risk of being unseated. The mule will take you to your destination, but never, never and I repeat, will give you a hint of emotion.
The same comparison can be done to the concept of balance. Some people will like the stalemate that no event can disturb. Others, like me, who perceive him as the epitome of extreme acrobatics, as noted below, from hell to paradise where you are.
In both cases the question of the fall is just a matter of time. That the fall may be a simple consequence of gravity, or it can be an art.

may seem meaningless words, metaphors, short legs, but if there's a thoroughbred among those who read these lines, safe who understands what I mean.

"I do not trust you, I'll end up hurt," said Marta last night.
"You also want a mule, in other words" I told her dry.

Pain is part of life, you always have the courage to accept it. Only if you live in hell every single day you know recognize the paradise when you meet him. Only if you live in pain and loneliness can you grasp what a beautiful pass in his hands, and attaccartici with all your strength, holding it up to bleed.
that you do not like risk, which will close within a glass bell frightened the world, by suffering, that you think you starvene secure in your relationship full of certainties, of reassurance, a pat on the shoulder, you who pretend most of the time for fear of loss or even worse, abandonment, you, I pity you. As for me, I want the wind in your face, I feel God, because only then can I stop to smell the shit all the mules of the world, and finally live. And if I fall, as happened to me many times, will not be a clumsy flight followed by a dull thud. No sirs, I will be an Icarus in all its glory piroetterà facing the ground as the right result for wanting to touch the sun.

Lidocaine Liquid Drink

Today we went to lunch with the in-laws and mother-in-law asked to proceed as the draft of my first novel.
the way, for those of you that if you are asking goes great. The final manuscript will be completed within a couple of weeks , with a little 'luck and good will.
At this news the mother-in-law has shown happy and my agent, as well as boyfriend asked if you know any reference in any publishing house. My mother-in-law began to ring immediately to the right and left to their contacts.
While I was in the couch watching some old family photograph, I felt my talents decant dispassionately on the phone with a friend. It was something like " know, this girl is dealing with a lot of things ... for example ... a photo a few years ago and also won an important prize, thanks to a short film ... .
All things are true, for charity, but at that moment I missed my breath and at times I choked on a bite-existent.
My mother-in-law, like the rest of the world, on the other hand, did not even read a line of the novel. He only knows that it is a novel, period. My boyfriend, who has offered to act as my agent, is also dark. I have not leaked any indiscretion.
The problem is this: What if, once finished, I gave a copy of the book to my mother-in-law and her reading, should think " my son is a moron ? Why would also be possible, eh. Indeed, it is highly likely that I am not a rising star of the narrative. And then my novel contains scurrilous terms and jargon that youth are not sure she, or a man as my boyfriend would appreciate.
Oh oh, I semblato esselmi of expulsion in a mess .
For this reason in the afternoon I started to revise the novel with a new enthusiasm, the knowledge that somebody is already doing much to make my dream based only on the confidence he placed in me. I find this extraordinary and I am really grateful to my wonderful boy who is my mother-in-law for everything they are doing. At the very least a bit 'more effort from my part in ending this thing they deserve it.
be clear however, that if trust is to be, trust is: I do not intend to change a comma of the novel to seek the approval of someone. I just feel an urgent sense that all males feel when they become adults, and I think it's called "performance anxiety .
While I was working on the novel, a few hours ago, my boyfriend and if nothing came out saying that when I am a writer full time can we afford a cat. Shit. And as I will explain that I am not a Kinsella? not explain it to him, that's all: read the book when finished and they will see for yourself. I hope that the disappointment is not likely to miss the good points that I'm sure, but there must be somewhere in the manuscript.

Staff Writer

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Weidmannsheil

strength tests always end up getting the better of me. The car had just begun to travel the 600 km that separated the incivility that we leave behind and the total lack of civility that was waiting for us ahead. My father drove silently, my uncle was snoring, I was not doing nothing but look out the window holding my balance at the head of Trouble sleeping on my lap. The intermittent white line gave a sense of endless torture, and marks the passage to the mountains waiting for us. "Here you take a radio, put a bit 'of music," says my father. I was hoping it was not
Toto Cutugno or some other provincial Italian singer. The last time I listened to the little island of white for no less than the DJ, I had stopped at the thought of having to also deal with all those that made the choir. Part one cd Mia Martini. I feel uncomfortable in dealing with its complete ignorance of basic things in the world, but his pain of love is enough to calm down a little. Only suffering knows appease the suffering, or at least feel less out of place.
do not know who made me do, I do not know if you resist 48 hours in a row with the blood of my blood to tell me stories about how you have to kill an animal. Death is already so present in the faces that I meet on the street that maybe looking directly into the eyes of a dead animal and gutted can dispel, and push towards life.
The mountains we swallow in steep channels, then more steep. I still think that at the end of this road the cliffs We shake in a vise from which we can not get out more. I can not breathe and I'm bursting from the desire to smoke. My eye continues to scrutinize the fuel level, sooner or later this cart will even stop to drink gasoline. But the move millimeter laciano I hope more and more convinced I am that I like Anne Frank, who died two days before the liberation. I'm going to leave the skin 2 km from the service due to lack of nicotine.
I still think about good intentions, the idea that I had made a u n tete-a-tete with my father, the man who looks at me and I do not understand. I wanted to please him, spend some 'quality time with him. The hunt, I thought, it's done of silence, or so the words will not help. I just wanted to be near him a little, feel a sense of complicity that we have lost, if we ever had. She watched him joking with my uncle at his side, I laugh from the back seat, but my smile does not reach the front. Maybe it's better that way, at least I do not run the risk that it looks forced. Trouble continues to turn over in his seat looking for a comfortable position, but too many hours in the car makes him nervous. I feel him more akin to my father. Every time I think I ask to remove here, a way to go back I would find easy. But my mouth is glued to my father for giving me the illusion of him.
Finally the motorway services, unmount even before the car stops, jump down behind me Trouble. We made only 300 km, and it is only 3 hours from the start.

Does The Cry Of A Mouse Warn The Other Mice

Rogue

"Hello, Rogue!"
"Excuse me, how did you call?"
"Rogue, like that of the X-Men."
"Why are you like pussy?"
"Haha, no. Why did the white forelock! "

overlook the fact that my boyfriend has just laughed because I was self-defined "chick" (well? What's so funny?) , flying up the stairs to the bathroom: is true hunting. A white hair , also rather long and prominent, sticking out my bunch, just right in the midst of all the other very dark brown.

"Would you cut it?"
"No, for heaven's sake do not know that for every white hair will grow another ten eradicated?"
"As you wish. To me it seems a str .. ata."

The white hair so it's still on my bunch, even in thirty years. Shit.
was I who had to make fun of my boy for his white hair, always has been. Now that he can not do is more fun, right? Capello
white ... But is normal to have white hair of the thirty first? I mean, I know there are those who gave them to us, even those who have many, but I was not really ever happened. In fact, my hair is naturally very dark.
not enough two horizontal wrinkles on the forehead appeared a few months ago decrepit enough to make me look for my age? It was not enough hands or detergents are making rough? No, this was not enough: now it takes the pure white hair.
And it would not cut anything at all. Now he is there and even if I cut it in me, I would have the knowledge mixed with anxiety that he is still there, with his Radicetti, ready to emerge when I least expect it. Not that much has to do what they can see the others, because what I hear, you follow me? I have a gray hair, and there are no scissors or dyes that can remove me from the head, if I may paraphrase a low-grade.
Now I can only count on my smile to look younger, because the rest of the head is dead (except domestic). I know that as soon as I turn to the mirror are hidden, but a few days ago I'm pretty sure he caught the of expression wrinkles near the eyes. It 's just a matter of time, perhaps hours, and then even those little bastards will find the guts to come out. The fact is
that is all happening too fast, in a few months. One day is almost a teenager who can gorge themselves on pizza to bursting without putting up a gram of fat, the next day are a kind of "lady" with wrinkles and gray hair. So, without a minimum notice. E 'trauma. It is not right. When one comes to thirty
finally reach full independence, full self-determination can live out, fend for herself, to send that country a certain number of people, scandalously late or do not return to their home in the evening, not caring unconditionally for judgments of others and even be covered with tattoos from head to toe. What I mean is that the thirty life should start to be great and you should begin to deteriorate on its most beautiful.
not fair, not fair, not fair.

Staff Writer

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I: the tramp

My mother came to visit. I've just spent the holidays, and after several days of false benevolence towards the world is back to being more meticulous than before. The problem of 2011 is me, the way I behave, dress, wearing a beard and hair: I think a bum. Even my father thinks, but at least has the good heart of venirmelo not to say. He only told me good when I come home fresh from shaving (which happens very often). It makes me feel like trouble when he does something good. I look at him and wags his tail, but I always think that I would jump at the throat if only to show some 'with malice in his trial.
back to my mother, I must say that its diplomacy toward me getting better. Scoundrel is learning to deal with a geek like me.
"Let's go shopping? Pago I," he tells me directly.
"You know I hate going to the shops, depresses me."
"We will soon, I promise that I'll put you in a hurry, you just choose something that makes you look less homeless."
still think that the name bum me fitting, and that, contrary to the collective imagination, stirs in me a deep sense of freedom. You have nothing, and nobody asks anything. What can be better? The food factor and respect are a bit 'weak, but I respect the fact that little of the others go. For food .. Oh well can not be all roses and flowers mica no?
assemble in the car with her through the eyes of a condemned man he sees before him the gallows from which hang short. I try to avoid destinations such as retail outlets, superstore, shopping centers and stuff like that. If I die I will not do the public pillory.
Contract which is basically what I need some new pants, a jacket as a replacement for what the port normally, and if we beat a vest that cools a bit 'wardrobe monoscromatico that characterizes me.
"And if I take a couple Shoe? "
" I have two feet, a few at a time will bring "
negotiate with the fact that will give me some money in cash because I choose a pair of decent shoes. The soldier recessed for the shoes there time. these hard times.
the way back I was too happy, and above all it was my mother. Incredible. It took me the beauty of 45 minutes to complete all transactions with the world of fashion. I scored three pairs of trousers all alike, same color, same model: it a try and I bought three, easy is not it? A black winter jacket almost identical to the one you already had, and a wool sweater, black as well. The colors are not my strong point, even the fashion .
Ah, the beard and the hair they cut off tomorrow, I promise, so finally I'll be a nice and responsible guy. Just what I needed: a false restyling for a false start of new life.

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phenotypes from a coin laundry

The eternal undecided
- Excuse me, how do you use the dryer?
- puts the laundry in, enter as many chips as it is the time it needs to dry and check the temperature.
- But you, for example shirts, what temperature and how long you select?
- Boh: depends on the shirts ... For those of cotton still use high temperature for ten or twenty minutes ...
Pause.
- I'm sorry, but you can select the second high temperature for the shirts to my husband or get damaged?
- depends ... are pure cotton? They share type plastic decorations, etc.?
- Well ... some yes ...
- So I guess you have to evaluate each case, I can not give you an answer that applies to all shirts.
Pause.
- Well, I put a high temperature. What do you say?
- I'm sorry, but I do not feel to take responsibility of your husband's shirts.
Pause.


The talkative
- Weather today, eh?
- Oh, yeah.
- This rain will not dry anything at home!
- Oh, yeah.
- And so it rains a week. Do not just stop.
- Oh, yeah.
- Come here often? I have not ever seen.
- I come in odd hours, do not worry.
- Yeah. More and more people use the coin laundry. And 'in fact very comfortable ... bla bla bla ... if you work ... bla bla bla ... if you do not have time ... bla bla bla ... for the life of modern man paranoid .... bla bla bla ...
- See you at the next (but no , ed ).


The maniac fetish
What it is forty minutes with the hypnotized eyes staring at your bra that tumble turns.

Man of the House
- Should I wash this linen: What do you advise me to do? ( I swear to you that this question was done very, ed )
- Split white to color and do two different washing machines. Beware of leaders who can lose color. In these compartments add detergent, select the program based on what you enter and press start.
- Ok. It takes a lot?
- A half-hour.
- Do you think I can go home and return in half an hour?
- I think so. Both washing machines can not be opened while in operation.
- Ok. How do I know if any head will lose color?
- Mmm ... first washing machine?
- You see so much?


The careless
- Where is the quilt that was on this machine ?!?!?
Silence.
- Nobody saw what happened to the quilt that was on this machine ?!?!?
Silence.
timid voice from the back: - It 's maybe this?
- Yes, it's him. Thanks.
- So you're lucky because I have dried and I was going to take me home ... My wife always buys a lot of stuff and no longer understand what is ours and what is not. But then someone saw what happened to my stuff ?!?!?

Staff Writer

Subclavian Steal Syndrome:

Brooke Logan Forrester: 70 years, 16 marriages and not hear

Yesterday I was, as usual, from my lunch. It seems that in recent days did nothing: either read or write or have lunch at my parents. Top marks for social life.
Besides my anti-social problems during the twenty minutes of the lunch I had the unfortunate idea to turn on the television and the look I accidentally fell on an episode of Beautiful. Since not seen him since college, or even when I was allowed to fuck, you will understand my dismay at seeing that children who had left an infant have become shareholders of Forrester Creations, while their parents have not only the bladder more large in the world, but are not even aged a second.
The series then defies the laws of physics, history and even common sense.
cite an extreme case of Brooke Logan Forrester just to make clear what kind of rubbish is dished up to us every day.

Brooke was married for the first time with Eric Forrester, becoming the symbol of the simple girl (model at Forrester Creations) who manages to succeed in life (marrying the rich man and becomes majority shareholder of his company). Hurrah then for the exaltation of female intelligence. Brooke and Eric were born from the union of Richard and Bridget.
Rich in texture when it came to about 25 years, Brooke had a daughter with Deacon Sharp, husband of first daughter, Bridget, now an adult. The daughter of Brooke and Deacon was named Hope. Between Hope and the first children are about 25 years apart. After the birth of
RJ (son of Brooke and Ridge boyfriend ever, as well as her husband for 12 times) and Jack Hamilton Marone (son of Nick and Brooke always, half brother of Ridge), Brooke had an affair with boyfriend of Hope, in turn, become adults.
Assuming that Brooke married Eric at the age of twenty years, conceiving Rich and Bridget in the same year, if it has been about 25 years before the birth of Hope and another 25 before the blow boyfriend, clear at this point how Brooke should be a sprightly septuagenarian, not the beautiful woman who propina his character. And to think that according to Wikipedia the character in the TV series should have 47 years ... How can a normal woman to 47 years had already blown the boyfriends of two different daughters conceived about 25 years apart?
But Rich, the first child, a boy is always the cool and all the other babies are not doing anything but incredibly leveled at her age, becoming the new generation of shareholders of Forrester Creations, which peacefully coexists with the first.
And now we pass the request: Brooke, my friend, instead of continuing to marry Ridge, which poor guy is going through a living hell running below, reveals the secret of your success, or how to never get old. For now it is clear only the genetic basis of the phenomenon, as it happens the same in all your numerous offspring.

Staff Writer