When I was twenty-seven years old, a woman friend became frustrated with how much
love and attention I was giving Barry, my husband of five years. She was a
teacher of women’s studies at a local college. This subject was brand new in
1973 and emphasized women’s liberation. She saw my devotion to Barry as old
fashioned and “unliberated.” In a burst of anger she said, “You’re putting all
your eggs in one basket. Barry is going to die someday and then you’ll be sorry
you concentrated so much love on him.”
