Two friends, on recourse.

Alexander: All male members of our race are DEAD TO ME.

Cecily: Your only recourse is to become a lesbian. Or a monk. Or both.

Alexander: I’ll be a lesbian insofar as I don’t have to see any tits.

Cecily, on “Frederic”.

Cecily: We called him Frederic for two hours before we realised that it was not his name. A twenty two year-old comedian with a provincial French accent, he slithered up to us when we were all eyes-peeled for benefactors, and poised to target men with Berlutti shoes. I use the word “slithered” a little callously. But slippery, young, money-hungry women look more like goddesses than snakes, and poor French boys looking for a little love lust can at times be scrawny and clothed in snake green. Frederic was.

Two friends, on Game Theory.

Charles: Yves saying that he would choose to stay with you in Paris instead of taking a dream job in Amsterdam is classic Game Theory. His dominant strategy: lock you in. Your dominant strategy: try as many men as possible, before you settle. Those are conflicting outcomes in a zero-sum game. His best move? Increase the cost to defect. In this case, the cost is your level of guilt for keeping him here if you continue to gadabout with all the other male creatives of Paris.

Cecily: That’s a well thought-out and convincingly articulated hypothesis, my friend.

Charles: Do keep in mind that research finds Game Theory applies best to the emotionally rational, i.e. sociopaths. So you know, he may be a sociopath or he may just be truly in love with you.

Two friends, on anchor’s aweigh.

Cecily: Yves just told me he may take a post in the symphony in Amsterdam. If he does, he leaves next week.

Charles: That’s a decidedly refined take on the old man-off-to-war story;”Cecily, I must serve in the orchestra in Amsterdam. I ship off tomorrow”.