In general, I think Blork and I don’t fit the usual gender stereotypes. He cooks, I take the garbage out. He cries during movies I find sappy. I’m grumpy and like to read the paper in the morning while he wants to talk about how my night was. You get the picture.
But tonight is my friend’s big wedding in a private club on Nob Hill (one of San Francisco’s fanciest neighborhoods) and while I was having acrylic nails put on and a French manicure (for the first time in my life, mind you), Blork was booking the rental of a convertible sports car for our trip down Route 1 next week.
What is America doing to us?
