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every piece of fairy-tale cake we’ve choked down that rewards a
girl—for her kindness, her wit, her courage—with a wedding.
“So I walk into this karaoke bar, still eating my falafel,” Lila said. “It was so good, salty and rich, crispy and soft, like deep-fried freedom and truth and acceptance. It tasted like the known, owned self. It tasted like fuck you, patriarchy.
