Divorce runs in my family, just like the way wide hips and large-sized feet do. It’s the “gene” I spent years hoping I didn’t have. Kind of like one my grandma passed down — a patch of unruly gray hair right at the hairline. I winced several months ago when I looked in the mirror and observed one platinum blond hair resisting the urge to lie down in a neatly coiffed bun.
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