At The Modest Proposal I could reach the top shelf. I repeat: I could reach the top shelf! You can’t put a price on the feeling of autonomy that that kind of accessibility brings. You just can’t!
“You look like you’re having fun, Clark,” Bert said to me. I ignored the bit of derision in his voice. Damn right I was having fun. I was wearing a Muffets T-shirt, I’d styled my hair using only a bit of water and my hands, and I had three days worth of stubble on my cheeks.
I had spent fifty-one weeks a year making sure that my personal presentation was flawless and beyond question. These trips to my in-laws were among the few occasions where I didn’t have to go all out for fear of being seen as ‘slovenly’ or ‘immature’. My parents had taught me to be a master of self-grooming.