-Lo estás metiendo en un juego que no puede jugar, estás fuera de su liga – me dijo. Tenía razón.

Dijo Nick Hornby en High Fidelity:

But I still felt a fraud. I was like all those people who suddenly shaved their heads and said the’d always been punks, they’d been punks before punk was even thought of: I felt as though I was going to be found at any moment, that somebody was going to burst into the college bar brandishing one of the anorak photos and yelling, ‘Rob used to be a boy! A little lad!’, and Charlie would see it and pack me in. It never occurred to me that she probably had a whole pile of pony books and some ridiculous party dresses hidden away at her parents’ place in St Albans. As far as I was concerned, she had been born with enormous earrings, drainpipe jeans and an incredibly sophisticated enthusiasm for the works of some guy who used to splodge orange paint around.
We went out for two years, and for every single minute I felt as though I was standing on a dangerously narrow ledge. I couldn’t ever get comfortable, if you know what I mean; there was no room to stretch out and relax. I was depressed by the lack of flamboyance in my wardrobe. I was fretful about my abilities as a lover. I couldn’t understand what she saw in the orange paint guy, however many times she explained. I worried that I was never ever going to be able to say anything interesting or amusing to her about anything at all. I was intimidated by the other men on her design course, and became convinced that she was going to go off with one of them. She went off with one of them.

The lesson I learned from the Charlie débâcle is that you’ve got to punch your weight. Charlie was out of my class: too pretty, too smart, too witty, too much. What am I? Average. A middleweight. Not the brightest bloke in the world, but certainly not the dimmest: I have read books like The Unbearable Lightness of Being and Love in the Time of Cholera, and I understood them (they were about girls, right?), but I don’t like them very much (..)
Even so, you’ve got to know when you’re out of your depth. I was out of my depth with Charlie; after her, I was determined never to get out of my depth again.