Wish You Were Here (Mrs. Murphy, #1)

by Rita Mae Brown

She wouldn’t even tell Susan what zigzagged through her head these days, because it was so disturbing and sad. Sometimes she thought she was mourning her lost youth and that was at the bottom of this. Maybe the upheaval of the divorce forced her inward. Or maybe it really was the times, the cheapness and crass consumerism of American life.

“I don’t like cats myself.” Mrs. H. drew herself up to her full height, which was considerable. She had the girth to match. “Too independent.” Yes, many people say that, Harry thought to herself, and all of them are fascists.

This was made all the more difficult because men took housework and women’s labor for granted. No dollar value was attached to it. When the wife withdrew that labor, men usually didn’t perceive its value; instead they felt something had been done to them. The woman was a bitch.

Harry laughed. “Mom used to say, ‘A woman marries a man hoping to change him and a man marries a woman hoping she’ll never change.’ ”

had never once occurred to her in her long and relatively happy life that evil is ordinary.