This is a book which attempts to explain the inner workings of women to men. Nothing in the realm of math or physics is so difficult an undertaking. It is an adult book using adult words. I cannot imagine attempting the explanation without them. If you are a lover of women, like I am, you are, no doubt, conflicted. It is difficult to love them. Like the moth’s love of the candle, it most often ends badly. So many men, piling their wealth onto tables and selling it off at a yard sale, all for the smell of perfume, and the beautiful smell of her hair as you dance. Friends lost, houses given, alimony paid.I was once a romantic. I was a buyer of flowers, and candies. I was considerate. I was a fool. I laid myself on the ground and women walked on me with their spike heels, laughing. My brother is a very bright man, probably a genius. He once said to me “Do you know who the smartest man in the world is?” no, I responded “the man who first said you can’t live with them, and you can’t live without them.” he replied.The problem for the “normal” man in today’s world is that it is nearly impossible to get the girl that you want. It is possible, though sometimes difficult, to end up with a girl. That particular girl, the girl surrounded by the girls in the school hallway, or the guys at the bar, the one that you think of as you close your eyes to sleep, she is too far off to touch. Perhaps you think that you are not handsome enough or rich enough. That is never the case. If you have the words, women will want to be with you, to be your lover, to be seen out with you. It is all about the words, little about the other things.This book is a result of a lifetime spent on contemplation. It has been a grand lifetime filled with love and kindness, beauty and intrigue. All the emotion that strung together, constitutes my history, is at the gentle hands of the fairer sex. I adore the female form, the sounds of their voices, the little quirks that find commonality in their feminine constitution. A thousand books could be written, their tear-stained pages documenting the inequity of the sexes, the difficulty of that which is intimately normal. It would be a manuscript of impotence. We do not control the destiny of love nor of sex. We are men in a world of women, and if we are to interface as we wish, we must become aware of the realities in order to work within a senseless framework that was designed before we came into being and that shall survive long after our demise.It is the realization, in many ways, of absolute incalculable probability that makes it all seem so impossible, yet it is not. For the physicists, like myself, who care to extract form all actions, some law that makes it all make sense, love and sex will prove an equation of too numerous variables to produce a usable result. Hypothesis put forth, all fail under experimentation. It is a frustrating effort, this attempt at understanding that which escapes logic.In my writing, I shall prove that, no matter the humiliation that you have suffered at your inept efforts, it pales in comparison to my own. No man has tried harder and failed more miserably than I. As is often the case, simple undaunted perseverance will inevitably drive one to understanding. I hope that you will read my words and find, in them, some solace, perhaps understanding, at least comfort in knowing that you suffer not alone.