So we get to the same place again and again. They asked this question a hundred, two hundred, three hundred years ago. Cave-girl wondering if she has been passed over because of her narrow hips. Cave-boy knowing that he throws his stone axe without the same vigour, gets less of the beast to feast on. A restless race of creatures continuously battling with our insecurities. The only constant is our own fear of inadequacy.
He doesn't really see me in that way because there are other cave girls, one for each day of the week and then some. I will never choose him because he is not so good with the axe-throwing. But we want to be picked anyway. Even if nothing will be done in the scheme of things, we each want what we should not and will never have. We each want what we wouldn't want if it was on offer anyway.
I turn to the great philosophers and I see that again, I am not unique. I am up there with the Germans, the Existentialists and the Greeks. I am cave girl in her own corner, withering from the cruel gaze of natural selection.