The flannel shirts I’ve seen on my husband and on working men in my dreams are speaking. I see the flannel shirt. I can feel its fabric in my hands, and I’m driving down the street in the rain and suddenly I’m crying. I can’t stop the tears.
Yesterday we had our classics book club meeting, and the talk turned to some unhappiness one of our members was experiencing with her husband. Of course, we all commiserated; most women in her shoes would feel similar frustrations, given her circumstances. And then one of our members, a middle-aged woman whose children are raised and […]