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Like those baubles the Japanese exchange—in a box in a bag, in a box in a bag—the sheen on my offerings from far afield was all packaging.
Besides, the good life doesn’t knock on the door. Joy is a job.
More than of leaving, I had developed a horror of being left.
How lucky we are, when we’re spared what we think we want!
The whole time I was pregnant with Kevin I was battling the idea of Kevin, the notion that I had demoted myself from driver to vehicle, from householder to house.
