At My Sister’s $5 Million Wedding, My Father Poured Wine Down My Dress and Called Me a Pathetic Spinster on the Microphone. I Made One Phone Call
“You’re so bookish.
So severe.
Men don’t care for severe women, you know.
You’ll have to work a great deal harder than Rosalie if you ever intend to make something of yourself.”
I did not answer.
I had learned that answering only extended the conversation.
I simply filed the sentence away, along with all the others, in a place inside myself that I kept locked and did not visit.
That place, I would discover much later, was not empty.
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