Since when does Angela care about cleaning? The other day, at dinner with a friend, she found herself extolling the virtues of a certain type of mop. She recently learned several methods for removing stains from supposedly stainless steel. She has even wished, on occasion, that she owned an iron.
An iron! More symbol than tool at this point, and Angela doesn’t like what the symbol stands for. She’s not a housewife. For one thing, she rents. True, she’s married, but there wasn’t really a wedding, because she’s opposed to weddings. She’s employed. In theory, empowered.
The thing about the mop is that it’s satisfying. Under the supervision of a therapist, Angela and Will have been talking a lot about satisfaction. How to define it, where to find it, whether they can feel it—have it—at the same time. Each swipe of the mop proves its usefulness, a glistening arc on a floor that a second ago looked O.K. but now is revealed to have been dusty and dull all along. The water in the bucket turns gray.
Angela doesn’t like the therapist. Why are they talking about satisfaction when they could be talking about happiness?
When I was your age— Angela has heard this sentence completed so many times, in so many ways, that by now she can line up her mother’s entire life beside her own entire life (thus far) and compare them year by year. She can try on the other life as you might try on a dress forgotten at the back of the closet: with no hope of it fitting, and yet with some perverse desire to see exactly where the seams stretch or the zipper catches, where two pieces of fabric refuse to meet.
Bu hikaye The New Yorker dergisinin November 13, 2023 sayısından alınmıştır.
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Bu hikaye The New Yorker dergisinin November 13, 2023 sayısından alınmıştır.
Start your 7-day Magzter GOLD free trial to access thousands of curated premium stories, and 9,000+ magazines and newspapers.
Already a subscriber? Giriş Yap
GET IT TOGETHER
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