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There comes a time in a man's life when he has to accept one sad fact -- that he will never know what it feels like to hold a Minogue in his arms. To smell the hair of a Minogue, to softly kiss the neck of a Minogue, to gaze adoringly at the sleeping face of a Minogue, or to feel the warm, gentle breath of a Minogue upon his neck -- all these dreams must be buried, like childhood toys packed away in a loft, or a once-beloved bicycle rusting forgotten in a garage. They will always be there as a comforting reminder of your earlier optimism, but you know deep down you will never go back to them. So too we must package up our Minogue desires and move on. Yes, there are other women. Yes, some are very attractive and equally Australian, but the memory, the fantasy, the burning boyhood desire for a Minogue of either variety will always be a burden that festers in the mind. Future relationships cannot be based upon comparing a potential date with the untouchable qualities and looks of a Minogue -- for any other woman would surely fail such a cruel test. No, friends, we must end this Minogue facade right now, packing away our keen youthful desires and moving into the harsh realities of fat, easily attainable real women whose thighs rub together and whose tits look a funny shape. Proof indeed that wishing hard enough does not make things come true. But words seem so meaningless. At least we still have our dreams, in them only can we ever know the love of a Minogue.
Kylie and Dannii: 1988 - 2001
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