“No sense of timing, when to get out. If I’d—so to speak—turned off the lights when she got to the part about the real uncle, real cousin, real boyfriend business, we could all have kissed and made up. Even if we’d brought down the curtain when the big lummox, all tragic and cozy, was crawling up and down my wife’s lap, we might still have been able to bring it off, music, swelling, up and out. But no, I had to hit the kid with my cherry-or-no-cherry speech. I just don’t know when to get out. Or... where I get off. So instead of all is forgiven, nothing was. Shelley huffed and puffed, fussed and bothered, preening her car-pool temperament and conscientiousness like nobody’s business. The very picture of a mother right down to the last detail. As, before Connie came along, she’d been the very picture of the brand-new bride and, after, the perfect picture of a wife and lover. Or, throughout, had the rebbitzin, if not letter-perfect—I never said Shelley was letter-perfect—down pat, at least in the sensibilities.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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