have had to take.
Everybody at that funeral wanted to tell me I had been faithful.
I was not faithful. I was excused.
For forty-one years I had a reason, and the reason was a letter from a boy in 1986, and it was the most useful thing I have ever owned.
It meant I never had to find out whether I could do it. Whether I could live with somebody, argue about a boiler, be disappointing to somebody at close range for thirty years.
Douglas Ferris asked me to marry him in the September of 1997. He was a good man, he is still alive, he has grandchildren and a boat. I said no in a car outside a restaurant and I told him it was because I did not feel that way, and he took it beautifully.
That was not the reason. The reason is that saying yes
