Read Online The Art of Love by Gayla Twist - Free Book Online

fixture. Still, my anger hasn’t abated, and I stomp across the living room, especially furious with myself. “ Idiot! Idiot! Idiot!” I scream. “Why am I such an idiot?”
    “ Wwwhoa!” My feet fly out from under me. I land hard on my back, the wind knocked out of me. “...Ow...” I groan, looking around to see what felled me. It’s the stupid self-help book I dropped when Elliot started pounding on my door.
    I’m in pain, but seeing the book only reignites my fury. I have been reading dating advice books for years, and all they’ve ever gotten me is trapped in relationship after relationship with pathetic idiots like Elliot. And the damn books only reinforce staying with an asshole once you’re landed with one. They don’t ever tell you to ditch the schmuck. They don’t explain how to find a great guy. After years of extensive research, I’ve finally come to the conclusion that all dating advice books are a load of total crap.
    Struggling to my feet, I snag the book and chuck it out the window. “There!” I shout, and a wave of triumph rolls over me. That felt great. I will never be the victim of some crackpot wannabe advice columnist ever again. Elated, I rush over to the section of my bookshelves designated for advice and snatch up another book. There will be no more of these obnoxious books in my life. “No more ‘I'm Okay, You're a Complete Dill Hole’!” I shout, throwing the book out the window. I grab another volume and look at the title. “No more ‘The Fools’!” This book also gets pitched.
    I clamber for another book, and let me tell you, there are plenty. “No more, ‘ He's Just Not That Into You, But He'll Sleep With You Anyway’!” I bellow, flinging it toward the gaping hole where a sheet of glass used to be.
    As I’m reaching for another worthless piece of printed trash, my eyes alight on an ancient saber with a lanyard grip that I just paid off after having it in layaway for six months. I love this sword. Just holding it makes me feel very connected to my Chinese heritage. But I love destroying self-help books even more. With the weapon in hand, I yank my next victim off the shelf and toss the book into the air. “No more, ‘ Women Like to Whine and Men Have a Penis’!” Using both hands, I bring the sword down, slicing through the book with a mighty “zwak!" A flurry of clipped papers flutters around the room.
    I know I’m acting like a crazy woman destroying books with an antique sword, but it feels so good that I don’t care. I turn to the shelf to make my next selection. As I raise my sword in preparation of cleaving something new in twain, I catch sight of the blade. Was that small knick always there, or is it something I just added with my psychotic meltdown?
    I definitely want all the self-help books out of my life, but I’m not willing to destroy a beautiful piece of history to do it. I carefully replace the sword on the wall. All the adrenaline drains out of me while I do it. Suddenly, I’m very tired and more than slightly embarrassed by my behavior. I fling myself onto the couch with a "whumph!” I’m a little less coordinated than I should be, and I smack into the bookshelf behind the couch, causing all the volumes above me to quiver and dance out of line. I’m normally quite the perfectionist about my books. I like to keep them aligned on the shelves with straight edge precision. But the hell with it, I can always fix the shelves tomorrow, after I’ve eradicated every single relationship advice book from my condo. “I'm done with all of you!” I yell at the books as they sneer down at me.
    I slump backwards on the couch with a little too much determination to relax and end up whacking my head on the bookshelf. “Ouch!” I wail, clutching my noggin as the shelf shakes for a second time. I close my eyes and add pressure to the point of pain, waiting for it to fade.
    Something feels wrong, and I open my eyes only to realize that one of the books on