I can’t really blame the show for leading me astray, after all it’s entertainment, not a guide for what to expect when you’re [not] expecting. But I can overthink it, helping myself sleep at night by mocking its insane conception of young (and, eventually, less young) women living in the city.
“That’s life,” my dad said, referring to the dance of ups and downs that we all endure, adding the proper metaphor, “If you didn’t have hangovers, you’d want to be drunk all the time.” Some advice courtesy of my good old Dad, he of epic assertive(and-knowing-what-the-fuck-he-wants)ness.
“Your twenties are tough! You’re still growing into your disproportionate puppy paws, so you flail around, you stumble. You’re learning how to be a grown-up.”
Ever since the publication of The Feminine Mystique, American women have been haunted by the problem of more.