Perhaps in a parallel universe
, I married one of my father's colleagues, and he owns a couple of yachts that we sail around in with clients and family at the holidays... the remainder of the time I pursue a preoccupation with botany and secretly yearn to go to a women's Ivy League college and smoke cigarettes and pursue a career of my own, like so many of my friends did. But there's a lot to be said for just being caught up in the day to day hubbub of keeping up three homes, one in St. Lucia and the others in Boston and California's Sonoma County -- and the two yachts, one sailing and one motor -- maintenance and bills and friends to see and family to tend to and our own two small children -- there just never seems to be time for a career, and I'm happy. Why wouldn't I be happy? He was so handsome when he was younger, and so gallant, and he loved to go shopping with me and watch me try on the dresses and we'd have long lunches in the watercolour sunlight, bags at our feet, and I hardly noticed back then that his breath smelled just like my father's did in the morning and that his toenails were old toenails, thick as antlers. I'll grow older, too, won't I, and have these things happen to me? You bet I will, and he won't mind a bit.