The window above my desk overlooks the backyard of these people I call the Anglos because it always looks like a photo shoot for the Pottery Barn catalog over there. The family includes two young kids--a boy and a girl, both blond of course. They seem to do a lot of crafts projects ($19.50-$24.95) and running around in swimsuits while Mr. Anglo, seated at his lounger ($299), reads the Journal and Mrs. Anglo sets out salads at an outdoor table ($499) under a burnt sienna umbrella ($149). There's always lemonade in a glass pitcher ($32.50), but Mrs. Anglo drinks rosé.
She wears colorful sundresses and has a faraway look. She's blonde too. Her husband, who's older than she is, has gone gray but has managed to maintain a certain rumpled handsomeness. I like to imagine that she used to be a lawyer but quit her job at the firm to take care of the kids--which is very fulfilling, naturally, but let's face it: there are times--at dusk, say, or after your third glass of wine--when you can't help feeling a bit, oh...diminished somehow? I mean, let us not forget she was in the top 10% of her class back at Ann Arbor, and Jerry at the office all but assured her she was on track to make partner within the next five years before she got pregnant, so let's just remember she wasn't ALWAYS considered destined for no higher calling than making gluten-free, dairy-free, peanut-free granola bars when it's her turn to be snack mom at the Montessori school, okay?
ELSEWHERE:
My short reviews of Sockhopapocalypse (Times Three Theatre/Hootenany Productions) and A Scent of Flowers (BackStage Theatre Company) are in this week's Chicago Reader.
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