I simply started to cut the bullshit. No more longing for the non-existent femme-fatale-like the Polish-Jewish lady, the kind of “like-this-would-have-been-my-mother-creature-Had-Hitler-not-fucked-the-world”-phantasy, that was so completely counterproductive for my development e.g. my capability to gain some – happiness? I acknowledged my Mom as she was and ignored the miserable rest about her. I started to laugh about her more heartily than before, to love her as life has made her, with her sad destiny and her crippled soul, that had crippled my soul through negligence in my childhood; accepted this as the one mere fact of my life, I had to wrestle with. Mirale and Hans became unimportant, but I continued to be something like a brotherly cousin to my lovely forlorn ex-girl-friend Mirale, visited and consulted her, encouraged her to leave Hans a year later, when this bright Jew-boy from New-York, Abe Schwartzmann, showed up, who had an internship with some real-estate-broker-company in Frankfurt, courted her and took her to the big apple, married her and throughout the declining and booming 80s and 90s turned her into the wife of a really successful real-estate-star. From a dreamer and loser like me continuing to a male German innocent, but a little bit boring male flower like Hans my Mirale finally had jumped right ahead into the bed of a guy, who made an astonishing financial career. AND back to me in the year 1984, the 21 year old gentleman, who had to make decisions. I fully returned to my wonderful childish-playful-lustful obsession about big tits, which started of course, when I was a child, being spoiled with a mother who was blessed with this kind of physique. I pragmatically resumed with this sexual fetish, as I had done all through my childhood and later, when I wildly masturbated myself into my puberty. Not knowing what to do after having finished high-school, being spit out by the system into something new and unknown, my post-puberty depression had thrown me into this deep grave, where I somehow abandoned and forbade me this innocent wide-spread male perversion or lust for – big tits. Now, after having experienced the lifeless sadness of the grave, from where I now disembarked from, I instinctively regarded it as kind of highly dangerous to look for romance and love and purity, since my searching for paradise would obviously lead me to hell, wouldn’t it? It was healthier to playfully play with the ladies who wanted me, and were in possession of – big tits. It was healthier to keep on avoiding those I could seriously fall in love with, since they would never want me, right? And so I became the famous, ridiculous, nerdy Shmuel Weinstock, whose smartness, weirdness and Jewishness made a lot of innocent German girls unhappy in the following half of the bloody 80s. While playing the playboy, every young playboy deserves to be, I patiently waited for some motherly built Jewish underachiever-woman, who would want my money, my family-producing Holocaust-survivor sperm, and of course – me. A women, whom I could betray and treat badly, as my bad Dad did it to my poor Mom. My behavior disorder stopped and I developed into the strongly extraverted idiot with a kind of idiotic and sympathetic charisma, that today my daughters are ashamed of, but also a little bit in love with, because – you know, I am their Dad, and the older and smarter and more mature they become, the more they are getting aware, that the idiot behind the idiotic façade is only a few millimeters away from the genius not everybody achieves to be, but everybody could become. Correct?