Was it for this I uttered prayers,
And sobbed and cursed and kicked the stairs,
That now, domestic as a plate,
I should retire at half-past eight?– Edna St. Vincent Millay
I was once told, by a boy who had been pursuing me for some vague and nebulous purpose, that I resembled the writer Carson McCullers. I was suitably flattered and began to view Carson with the strange nepotism I afford all my suggested look-alikes (apparently, while I have a face people tend to see all the time on the street, there is no television equivalent. This once made me kind of sad, but that was before I realized how little that actually meant about me and my hundreds of common doppelgangers).
And though Carson is certainly a great person to be compared to in any capacity (and despite her infinitely less beautiful name and comparatively plain face), oh how I wish it had been Edna!