The Underwear Man Quotes in The Edible Woman
She saw [the Underwear Man] as wearing a business suit and a fairly conservative tie, diagonal stripes in brown and maroon; shoes well-shined. Perhaps his otherwise normal mind had been crazed into frenzy by the girdle advertisements on the buses: he was a victim of society.
[…] As she stepped into the street a new thought came to her. Maybe it was really Peter. Slipping out from his law office into the nearest phone booth to dial the number of housewives in Etobicoke. […] Perhaps this was his true self, the core of his personality, the central Peter who had been occupying her mind more and more lately. Perhaps this was what lay hidden under the surface, under the other surfaces, that secret identity which in spite of her many guesses and attempts and half-successes she was aware she had still not uncovered: he was really the Underwear Man.
She watched the capable hands holding the knife and fork, slicing precisely with an exact adjustment of pressures. How skillfully he did it: no tearing, no ragged edges. And yet it was a violent action, cutting; and violence in connection with Peter seemed incongruous to her. Like the Moose Beer commercials, which had begun to appear everywhere […] The fisherman wading in the street, scooping the trout into his net was too tidy: he looked as though his hair had just been combed, a few strands glued neatly to his forehead to show he was wind-blown. And the fish also was unreal; it had no slime, no teeth, no smell; it was a clever toy, metal and enamel.
[…] She looked down at her half-eaten steak and suddenly saw it as a hunk of muscle. Blood-red. Part of a real cow that once moved and ate and was killed.
The Underwear Man Quotes in The Edible Woman
She saw [the Underwear Man] as wearing a business suit and a fairly conservative tie, diagonal stripes in brown and maroon; shoes well-shined. Perhaps his otherwise normal mind had been crazed into frenzy by the girdle advertisements on the buses: he was a victim of society.
[…] As she stepped into the street a new thought came to her. Maybe it was really Peter. Slipping out from his law office into the nearest phone booth to dial the number of housewives in Etobicoke. […] Perhaps this was his true self, the core of his personality, the central Peter who had been occupying her mind more and more lately. Perhaps this was what lay hidden under the surface, under the other surfaces, that secret identity which in spite of her many guesses and attempts and half-successes she was aware she had still not uncovered: he was really the Underwear Man.
She watched the capable hands holding the knife and fork, slicing precisely with an exact adjustment of pressures. How skillfully he did it: no tearing, no ragged edges. And yet it was a violent action, cutting; and violence in connection with Peter seemed incongruous to her. Like the Moose Beer commercials, which had begun to appear everywhere […] The fisherman wading in the street, scooping the trout into his net was too tidy: he looked as though his hair had just been combed, a few strands glued neatly to his forehead to show he was wind-blown. And the fish also was unreal; it had no slime, no teeth, no smell; it was a clever toy, metal and enamel.
[…] She looked down at her half-eaten steak and suddenly saw it as a hunk of muscle. Blood-red. Part of a real cow that once moved and ate and was killed.
