...is to pad along the cool, tiled expanse of the home, brewing lemon tea in the dead of the night, even as moonlight and starlight wilt. It's taking that warm, comforting beverage, sitting on an armchair, that's not your usual armchair but feels just so right. It's picking up a long-forgotten, hardbound book of poems, read through the lines and then read them again, slowly sipping the lines the way one does the tea...and feel warm, comforted, and exalted by it all.
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This isn't exactly a feminist tirade, but this is written by a woman, and it is written in annoyance. You raise your girls to be sweet...
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