The Instruction Book, the Real World and the Sot

“Trust me,” this guy at the party said, leaning in so I could smell every drop of pinot he’d swilled before deciding to share his political and social views with me, “when you have children, you’ll understand.”

I was torn between wanting to pour his drink over his smug head and feeling a little depressed, because it used to be, “Trust me, when you’re older you’ll understand.”

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