“I’m not playing this game.” “No,” she called out to me. “You’re playing her game. And you don’t even know it.”
“A guy walks into a store and says to the female sales clerk, ‘I’m looking for a pair of gloves for my wife, but I don’t know her size.’
The sales clerk, a real good-looking lady, says, ‘Here, I’ll try them on.’ She sticks her hand inside a glove and says, ‘It fits me. Is she about my size?’
The man says, ‘Yes, she is about your size, so that’s very helpful, thank you!’
The sales lady says, ‘Anything else?’
The man says, ‘Yeah. Come to think of it, she needs a bra and panties, too.’”
Stewart once told me, when we got around to discussing funerals—a morbid topic but an unavoidable one at the time—that funerals weren’t for the dead, they were for the living, to give them an outlet to grieve. But I wanted to tell myself that I was doing this for him. I didn’t want to be here, but I owed it to him.