At Trader Joe’s, I pile things into a basket and then I unpile them and put them back on their shelves. TI pay too much at a café to drink an iced coffee and sit at a long, dreamy farm table near two boys doing calculus. One of the boys is slumping into his sweatshirt sleeve, miserable, or bored, or maybe both.
In high school, I put brown paper bag covers on all my math books after freshmen year, even when we weren’t required to, so my friends, or strangers, wouldn’t be able to tell what kind of math I was taking (the lowest level kind). It’s funny now, that I actually thought they’d care. There is nothing quite like high school girl shame.