I know you resent it, and perhaps, growing up at you did,
you have every right, the carefully crafted green, green lawn trapped inside a
recently painted white picket fence, the two-car-garage when you don’t even own
one, the doorbell with the fingerprint of traveling salesmen (or perhaps a
pizza delivery boy) and a mailbox full of credit card applications, shopping
circulars, political claptrap telling you who you ought to support in some
upcoming election – an insular life far from the hubbub of the big city,
nothing of importance ever transpiring, while you can pop out the estimated one
and a half kids, although that’s his life, not yours, and yet from all you have
said, and all you have written and posted, you want it after a fashion, the
ring on your finger (not through your nose), and have a man who will not leave
you at sundown for that life with a wife, leaving you in the lonely life of a
city full of strangers. Do you really want to be there with him in that world,
or do you just think you want it, when you really don’t.
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