(Ripping off Mallory Ortberg’s brilliant series on The Toast.)
You’re in a Virginia Woolf novel if…
- You have a little spaniel who paws at your feet and looks at you, full of meaning and uncomplicated desire; rushing, whimpering, careening toward the day’s promise.
- There she was, from the very first, perhaps from all time, an old woman — watching you from her bedroom window. She inhales. You exhale. A streetcar rushes past and the fabric of time falters and wrinkles, and you know that there shall never be a day quite like this one.
- A man keeps opening and closing a pocketknife in your presence. You feel sexually harassed but can never say so.
- Women alone stir your imagination.
- Your husband is well educated and clueless. You exchange many portentous glances with him over your scones and tea.
- There are flowers in a vase. What do they mean?
- You are…
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