It turns out that I'm afraid of looking like a crone after
all.
It turns out that I need to revise that last line: I'm
afraid of looking like a mom.
It turns out that I can't fix anything except sometimes very
small things.
It turns out that I treat everyone like they're my mother.
It turns out that I'm worried about you changing.
It turns out that I feel pretty incomplete without you.
It turns out that it's faster to take Ocean Avenue home.
It turns out that the sky is rose-colored and falling on our
heads.
It turns out that if one of us is a Tori Amos song we are
both Tori Amos songs about widows.
It turns out that the Sex and the City guy I should be with is Harry.
It turns out that the Sex and the City guy I should be with is Harry.
It turns out that the man I should marry is my own husband.
It turns out that I can't get through one verse of that song
Where Are You Going without crying.
It turns out that my crying and singing does nobody any
good.
It turns out that I once made a very good joke about donut
holes.
It turns out that if you sit like a man you may or may not
talk like a man.
It turns out that if you type like a man you may email like
a man.
It turns out that if you take up more physical space people
will take you more or less seriously depending on your gender.
It turns out that I'm not that kind of woman.
It turns out that I'm very bad at time management.
It turns out that I needed all my vowels.
It turns out that this month was cruel in only the most
ordinary way.
It turns out that today I am a whole month older.
The pileup of lessons is so moving! (I don't know if your crying and singing does nobody any good...! I would argue the other way!)
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