Finding Myself in the Shoes of Mrs. Maisel

NEW YORK — 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. “Housesitting,” I said. In truth I was getting divorced, and crashing to save money until I found a new place for my daughter, 14, and me. When I told friends my situation, they said, “You’re the real-life Mrs. Maisel.” Minus the costuming and time period, there were stri...