"[...] I think only maybe your life revolves too much about men, a little bit, right now."
Pip stared in amazement at this fresh insult.
Self-pity seeped into her, a conviction that for no one but her was sex so logistically ungainly, a tasty fish with so many small bones.
From somewhere, in college, Pip had gotten the idea--her mind was like a balloon with static cling, attracting random ideas as they floated by--that the height of civilization was to spend Sunday morning reading an actual paper copy of the Sunday New York Times at a café.
Nobody had warned her that the figure to pay attention to when she was being interviewed by Igor, the head of consumer outreach at Renewable Solutions, was not the "thirty or forty thousand dollars" in commissions that he foresaw her earning in her very first year but the $21,000 base salary he was…
"The Vickys have an elaborate code of morals and conduct. It grew out of the moral squalor of an earlier generation, just as the original Victorians were preceded by the Georgians and the Regency. The old guard believe in that code because they came to it the hard way. They raise their children to …
