The Case for Vulnerability
My fiancé’s wife is gesturing wildly for me to take my clothes off. We are huddled together in a bedroom off the main room of her traditional Moroccan home, and I can hear my AUP cohort on this study trip enjoying their pastilla in the nearby dining room. I don’t know the name of my sister-wife, but as I undress before her I see her sultry, full lips framing blinding veneers. They turn from grin to grimace as she takes in the tattoo on my ribs, unshaven underarms and utilitarian bra. Don’t worry, I thought. I’m also unimpressed.