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    So don’t mind if I fall apart / There’s more room in a broken heart

    Hi, I’m Nora Ephron. I have this thing where I conceive of every relationship with a man–even a politician–in terms of romantic betrayal, you know? I had this awful ex…well, we won’t go into it, but he really affected me.

    Sometimes people say that it’s kind of pathetic for me to pitch myself as a symbol of female strength when the women in all my romantic comedy and romantic drama and romantic comedy-drama screenplays are kind of drippy and mopey and hung-up and stuff about men.

    But I say, would Meryl Streep and Jack Nicholson star in “pathetic”? Would “pathetic” have made an inescapable icon out of Meg Ryan? Okay, then. Let’s not be having any more of this “pathetic” stuff, or I’ll unleash some of my acclaimed snappy wit on you. It’ll sting, believe me.

    Why didn’t Bill love me? Sorry to change the subject so abruptly, but I mean, I was there for him all the time. So were the other feminists. So were the gays. Sometimes we were all there for Bill at the same chic dinner parties. I just don’t understand. I don’t know why I wasn’t enough.

    Please, someone stop me before I have a few too many glasses of Sauvignon Blanc and call him up and say something foolish.

    Oh, and war is bad.


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