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The Night of Nine Manhattans double-parked my cocktailsmarked me empress of the open bar while bridesmaids tussled in the firing line yet I was borne toward the thrown bouquetquick enough to call it mine and when I took that posy such a rage rose in me to want what everyone didand be made a woman by it…
Ivy League I wish I could weara polo shirt withoutlooking stupid, or ridein a regatta withoutmy fringe flying up, revealingmy premature wrinklesbecause I keep my eyebrows upeven at rest. The bad tasteof rich boys makes mesweat. Sponsors’ namesmake me sweat—foundationswhich seem to me darkendless aislesof mood lighting.I have wanderedthe days searchingfor myself in car windows.I…