Was it for this I uttered prayers,
And sobbed and cursed and kicked the stairs,
That now, domestic as a plate,
I should retire at half-past eight?

Edna St. Vincent Millay

Many things mark the arrival into adulthood: one’s first child, a marriage, the purchase of a home. Mine arrived in different forms yesterday: my first trip to the dry cleaners, opening the package of checks for the first joint-checking account. The joyful dread of minutia.


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