My Personal Recollections of Not Being Asked to the Prom
I never minded my unpopularity in those days. Books were friends and poets (dead) were lovers. Brainy girls were still a rarity, and boys preferred big bosoms to well read and saucy wits. I look back now with pity on the young Me I didn’t pity them. I didn’t know that I was almost pretty And might have had a charm for older men.
And my poor mom, who never bought a fluffy ball gown or showed me how to dress my hair— she must have wondered where she got this stuffy daughter. She didn’t say it, but her stare asked whether genes or nurture were to blame. (But I got married, Mother, all the same).