We recently found ourselves sitting in front of a group of 40-something women who were having a reunion of sorts.
“How are you?” “What are you doing now?” “You divorced twice?”
All through dinner, I overheard them exchanging updates, from names of kids to names of ex-es. It was very Sex-in-the-City. Everyone looked chic, put together and carried expensive purses.
Would I do that at 40? Then I realized I didn’t have a girlfriend posse here (or Singapore for that matter, where I have a Straits Times posse instead).
What I do have is a couple of great girlfriends who just don’t happen to hang in the same hemisphere at once.
I’m ambivalent when I hear of women going on all-girlfriend nights out, camps, events, bridal showers, et cetera. I can’t tell if I secretly want something like that, or I’m glad I’m not trapped in something like that.
It’s hard enough trying to relate to people ANYwhere, to find similar crass joking, cynical yet idealistic, beer-swigging people to talk about life, love, war and politics without using gender to automatically define a commonality.
Jay noted I hung out with more guys than girls. So I don’t have monthly hormonal gatherings of the nth degree, but I’m grateful for my buddies (dudes and dudettes) all over the world. In a perfect universe, we’d use our private jets to meet on Waikiki for our weekly drink-and-talk-cock sessions.
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