“Why are you always suggesting silly, impulsive things like ballets and snow angels?” “Why are you always resisting them?” She almost gasped at the question, which felt like a thin, perfectly honed blade sliding effortlessly between her ribs. The answer was that indulging in snow angels and impromptu outings to the ballet felt like exposing herself somehow. Putting on display the tender, inner part of her that was capable of taking delight in innocent pursuits, and that, in turn, felt like she was setting herself up to be mocked.
