“Too dark,” my mother informed me, her impressionable teen. “That’s what I get for marrying your father.” In our culture, the subtle differences in skin tone, sometimes impossible to discern, mattered.
“I’m only going out with you because I’m bored.”
Outside of George Clooney, no one wants to take a pot-bellied pig to bed. Why? Because they’re messy. And I have some piggish habits.
“No togas, no saris, and no more dancing around with a tablecloth on your head,” she said, laying down the law.