Last summer, the day my husband drove my daughter to sleepaway camp, I moved into my parents’ apartment building. Neighbors who had known me since childhood saw me in the elevator and asked what I was doing there. When I told friends my situation, they said, “You’re the real-life Mrs. Maisel.” Minus the costuming and time period, there were striking similarities: difficult split, close Jewish family, prying neighbors. But unlike the main character in “The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel,” I had never done stand-up and had no desire to. One day a college professor friend, also separated, told me he performed at open mics under an assumed first name.

Source: New York Times December 01, 2019 15:00 UTC