The Checkout shelves are groaning

with heated passions and ardour.

Handsome men with windswept hair, washboard abs, and lips parted ever so seductively,

promise to whisk me away to some magical Fantasyland.

I could be that women on the cover, it says.

I could have perfect hair and perfect body

And be the girl that rough'n'tough Tyrone is willing to settle down for.

It would be nice to be her

instead of being an overweight waitress

who will feast tonight on nuked leftover pizza and diet coke,

but I don't know.

Will that special someone, perfect in every way,

really make it all go away?

What if he finds a better girl?

(Just like my last boyfriend)

I don't know how much talking we could do

beyond staring into each other's lovestruck eyes.

That does get kinda old after awhile.

Perhaps I'll just buy a copy, take it home, and read it.

And let Fantasyman stay in Fantasyland.