I think statistics go in one ear and out the other. All of us respond to stories more than numbers.

My demeanor isn't that of a woman enraged. To see me slumped, glassy-eyed, holding a sandwich someone has cut for me into four "manageable" pieces, a person might tell you I look much more like a woman subdued.

There's a limit to my patience with anything that smacks of metaphysics. I squirm at the mention of "mind expansion" or "warm healing energy." I don't like drum circles, public nudity or strangers touching my feet.

Like most women, I remember my first drink in tender minutiae.

I have been a ballerina, a cheerleader and a sorority girl. I was the girliest girl alive.

I think statistics go in one ear and out the other. All of us respond to stories more than numbers.

I'd written Smashed not because I was ambitious and not because writing down my feelings was cathartic (it felt more like playing one's own neurosurgeon sans anesthesia). No. I'd made a habit--and eventually a profession--of memoir because I hail from one of those families where shows of emotions are discouraged.