I used to think that women, like me, were guilty of being non-selective when it came to choosing a mate. That any warm body that paid us a little attention…
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When I was young, I fancied myself a global citizen. A Margaret Mead type, who gravitated towards exotic cultures. Impressed with my “intimate” knowledge of obscure peoples, of my ability…
“He’s hypnotized you,” Mom said when I told her I was going to marry the Iranian and move to his country. “Do you have any idea how they treat women…
I’m back at the small confectionary shop in Iran where Hannah, my husband’s niece, and I order frozen noodles. “One of the girls in my study group had a really…
A long time ago, before I had children, my husband took a second wife. We were living in Washington, D.C., not the Islamic Republic of Iran, and I had nothing…
“You know,” my Iranian boyfriend said one evening as we lay squished together on his twin bed. “I don’t think I’m the kind of man who could ever marry an…
In grade school, I was one of those kids. The kind no one picked for their team. Instead, I lurked on the sidelines with Arlene, a fragile girl who made osteoporosis look sturdy. …
When I turned thirty, I was angry and unhappy, but didn’t really know it. I figured that niggling feeling, the one I couldn’t really identify, the one that wouldn’t go away, was…
