I went out with girlfriends tonight, only one of a handful of times I've been out at night since my second child, now six months, was born. I put on heels and squeezed myself into some jeans that still don't quite fit, and I drove to Venice to meet four of my best friends at a restaurant that we've been going to together for years. I got there a few minutes early and wandered into a couple of shops, peering at little displays of jewelry I can't afford, and admiring the festive holiday atmosphere pervading every corner of everything.
It was Monday night but it was bustling, and when I returned to the restaurant it was already packed. We all crammed into a booth and ordered the same things we always order, the things we ordered seven years ago when were were the same, but different, people. When we were in our twenties and single, and lost and found, and altogether women we had already become. We just didn't know it yet.
And dinner was dinner, each of us filling the rest in on
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