There's a thin line between love and hate, or infatuation and disdain. Every woman can identify with the "moment of truth"—that flash of lucidity and horror that her date laughs like a horse, that her mate loves the underwear-eating dog more than she. The joys of living alone are confirmed by every story of lying, cheating, oblivious, messy, inconsiderate exes. One woman discovers the in-the-flesh odors of her Internet lover prove too much to bear: "So there I was, trying to be sensual, focusing a great deal of attention on her breasts, which had become a scent-free oasis. It was a moment of startling clarity—when good lesbians smell bad." Another finds her date's pace problematic: "He nibbled my lips then a nanosecond later was standing before me wearing nothing but his socks. He triumphantly placed one foot on the couch, leaving the other on the floor. ‘Aren't you going to say anything about how big it is?' he inquired, nodding to the place his boxers had been just moments ago." These women grew up knowing they didn't need a partner in order to be complete, but in the name of love, sex, or something in between, they gave it a go anyway—with riotous results. A collection of pithy confessions that could make even Bridget Jones stop looking for a mate, The Moment of Truth helps put all those romantic disasters into perspective.