Lyndsay Hall

Today I began an essay: For as long as I have known how to be, I’ve been ashamed of my body. My publications all live within this same confessional territory.

The debate is out on chivalry: have women killed it, lowering their expectations to such distressing lows that no man will bother opening a door for a lady again?

The role I play in his life is replaceable; my stay is transient.

I am oh-so-skilled in making excuses for a man, justifying why he doesn’t call, doesn’t show effort. Men, according to my logic, are just always busy, too busy indeed to send a text asking about my day.