A Girl's Guide to Chaos

(Downtown New York, the 1980s. Cynthia contemplates her future, just after catching her ex-boyfriend and her best friend, making out in her kitchen.)
CYNTHIA: The realization hits me heavily, like a .44 Magnum smashing into my skull. My heart starts beating with a quick dread and my blood freezes in my veins. My stomach does backflips. The ordeal I am about to face is one of the most chilling, grisly, and macabre experiences known to woman.
Dating. I will have to start dating again.
Please, God, no, don't make me do it! I'll be good from now on, I promise! I'll stop feeding the dog hashish! I'll be kind, thoughtful, sober, industrious, anything. But please, God, not the ultimate torture of dating.
That's why I stayed with him for so long, probably. I couldn't stand going through it all again. Sure, he might be a trifle wild and intractable, I kept telling myself, but at least I know I'll get laid tonight, and tomorrow night. At least someone will go to the movies with me and not try to hold my hand.
Hand-holding. The WORST thing about dating. It's the most nerve-wrecking experience! Once I start holding hands, I'm afraid to stop. If I pull my hand away, will he think I'm being cold, or moody? Should I squeeze his hand and kind of wiggle my fingers around suggestively? Or is that too forward? What if my hand is clammy? A clammy hand is more offensive than bad breath or right-wing politics! A clammy hand means you're a lousy lay! Everybody knows that!
And what, dear spiteful God, will I wear?