Germaine Greer is in love. Or in lust. Or just plain involved. She's being coy about the details, but she is behaving amazingly girlishly. She goes a bit gooey when she talks about the nameless "him" for whom, she confesses, she is making a compilation tape so he can think of her while she is away in America. And like regular women everywhere--women who aren't, say, feminist icons who have written life-changing books like The Female Eunuch--she confesses, "I'm waiting for the phone to ring." It's not that Greer advocates such behavior--"I think it's ridiculous that I won't ring a man....
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