On a visit home a couple of years ago, I was sifting through a cardboard box of unsorted family photos when I came upon one in particular that gave me pause. "What the hell is this?" I asked my mom, who was sitting across from me at the kitchen table. The photograph I held up, incredulously, was of my mom, circa 1980-something, at a cocktail party. She was wearing a splashy floral dress with puffy sleeves, red lipstick, and she was trapped in the sideways embrace of a leery Michael Douglas, who was leaning in to kiss her cheek.
