"... (Who works? Is there a trust fund at play here, or are they just that good at living off the land?) and a desperate, shame-filled recognition of the disparity between their towering competence and my obvious lack thereof. Who would you want to link up with in the coming apocalypse? The hot, fit, loving family who knows how to build a house by hand, or the tubby middle-aged broad who can’t even drive stick? Exactly. My ability to provide wry commentary about my own cervix is an asset useful only in a pre-collapsed society.... Once the shit hits the fan, I’ll need somewhere to run... Maybe these bad feelings are signals that it’s time to rethink my approach to other people, and maybe even to life itself, to become more open, more generous, more in tune with nature and less concerned with being a good tube of toothpaste and then making fun of myself for it...."
Writes Emily Flake in "Stalking a Rustically Hip Family on Instagram" (The New Yorker). The "good tube of toothpaste" refers to her description of herself giving birth in the hospital, where "they used a vacuum and had a big doctor squeeze me like a tube of toothpaste.... The doctors and nurses know what they’re doing, and see what a not-pain-in-the-ass I’m being? I will be a good tube of toothpaste!"
Showing posts with label Emily Flake. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Emily Flake. Show all posts
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