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I’m getting stale. I always do this time of year. I keep my nose to the grindestone and put in long hours and rustle up good meals and do all the chores and run errands and get along with people — and have a fine time doing it and enjoy life. Then I realize, bang, that I’m tired and I don’t want to wait on my family for a while and I wish I could go away somewhere and have people wait on me hand and foot, and dress up and go to restaurants and the theater and act like a woman of the world. I feel as if I’d been swallowed up whole by all these powerful DeVotos and I’d like to be me for a while with somebody who never heard the name.
