“One day, I’d like to visit my father’s birthplace, see the grave of my grandfather.”
“You’re obsessed with your roots.”
“No. If I was obsessed I would have gone a long time ago.”
“You’re in denial.”
I stop answering. She has a theory about me and she will reinterpret proofs that contradict it. Make a round hole large enough and the square peg will fit.
“I could be a psychologist.”
I swallow the laugh and check my face to make sure I am not smiling.
“I have been studying. I am really good at it.”
Right! One book, a handful of articles and a lot of gossip. I want to tell her she could easily get a Dunning-Kruger certificate in psychology. I imagine her agreeing, feeling validated.
Thirty seconds of silence.
She starts to tell me about a conversation with a friend about another friend’s husband. He apparently has a problem with successful women.
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