The salads arrive. I recall being grateful that the small restaurant was nearly empty. Miss Antoinette’s lecture was penetrating, stirring long held secret feelings, and astonishingly on point.
“Sit up, Willie. Left hand on your lap,” she admonished.
I changed my posture accordingly and she continued.
“Left undressed is the guilt factor. It’s easy to simplify. One constantly sees highly qualified males performing menial tasks. The PhD driving a cab with his spouse bringing home the bacon. The highly educated professor who decides to devote his life to writing poetry while his significant other pays the bills and makes him clean the house. So the simplification need can be easily fulfilled.”
She munched on a forkful of crisp greens.
“But the guilt then metastasizes... like a tumor. It
