table
"When you are in your thirties", Angela told her, not unkindly, “you’ll want one too. You’ll want a table that will last your whole life.” The table fixed itself with totemic power into Reese’s brain. The butcher-block craftsmanship became for Reese an absurd-but-serious mental marker of a female bourgeois heterosexual temporality forever beyond her envious grasp: When a woman reaches a certain point in her thirties, she looks around and finds a good dining set with which to settle down.