They took their seats, P103 and P104, and sat down upon the red velvet chairs. She asked her husband how he had managed to get such great seats, waiting to hear if he had blown the budget.

Check in had been far less painful than anticipated and the line for security had moved efficiently this morning. Her gate wasn’t far and she had arrived early enough that there were plenty of seats to choose from. She had positioned herself beside a window that to her left took in the runway activity and straight ahead and to her right, she could people-watch in fascination. One of her favorite pastimes.

One day, she thought, we’ll live in a brownstone. For now, they lived in a studio apartment in a pre-war building that had been renovated with a modern staircase that didn’t carry the stories as far back as she had hoped.

From her vantage point she had a clear view of the Empire State Building.

Can you call yourself a feminist if the main reason you’re letting your hair go gray is because your husband says it’s okay to do so?