Lisa Hanawalt's astonishing memoir has a simple premise: Hanawalt feels that she is "bad" at both horse-riding and sex. But she keeps returning to both activities. That's the story. Hanawalt purchases a horse because she suspects she is not going to have a child. Her friends say, "Go for it! Get the horse. It's self-care." Around the same time, Hanawalt begins to ask questions about her romance of two decades. She and her partner start sharing details about their "crushes." The arrangement becomes an open relationship (though she is oddly reluctant w/r/t using this term). Then--you guessed it--Hanawalt finds herself officially unattached. As Hanawalt wanders through her dating odyssey, she makes a confession. She really likes fat men. Fat, middle-aged. And she enjoys the "reverse cowgirl" option. She wishes that her friends would stop buying her tee shirts that say the following: "My Other Horse Is a Prius." Then again, sh...
I bought a used Svaha dress for my daughter. It celebrates women in science--it is covered in images of beakers and vials, potions, hot plates. But I failed to distinguish between "adult" sizing and "girl" sizing. "Size 6" does not mean "wear this if you are six years old." In my desperation to make something of my misguided purchase, I considered going in drag for Halloween. *I* would be a woman in science. As I yanked the dress over my head, I created a small tear in the fabric. My husband watched in confusion, asking, "Why don't you just do an exchange?" I write all this in solidarity with Martha Stewart. I know how a bad idea can consume you, so that you are momentarily blinded. Stewart spilled chocolate on her sweater--in a fit of insanity, she realized that she could dress as a struggling civilian for Halloween. All of America would understand her intention. All thoughtful, compassionate, literate suburbanites would read up on...