Because

Out my window she walks, small head and breasts and long lean legs and arms, gossamer threads concealed by cotton and Lycra. Disproportionate, her great mouth smiles perfectly placed teeth. Glossy black hair curls her face, framed, and sometimes a mischevious strand dances upon her lips then back to its place, giggling, satisfied.

She is a figment because
I am a shut-in.