I'll give you a great example: That writer for Sex in the City who wrote a post-wall blog a while ago regretting what she had done.

She knew where she was going and what was going to happen but thought, "It'll be different for me."

They always know. They think they're special and that their life is somehow different. There's a constant gnawing at the edge of their mind that they willfully ignore unless some kind of crisis happens, and even still they rationalize it away.

Then one day, right around menopause, they all wake up, look back, and despair saying, "What have I done?"

Then they have two choices:

Accept their mistakes and their fate and try to fix it, or;

Double down. Triple down. The world is wrong, not me.

It's a pattern you see repeated over and over and over and over and over. The callousness of women knows no bounds.