It's a weekend evening, and Madonna is blasting, a half-eaten tube of cookie dough lies on the table, and I'm painting my nails as I gossip with my five best girlfriends.
Sweet memory from 15 years ago, when I was a shy seventh-grader? Not quite. Try a recent Saturday night when my buddies crashed at my apartment after an hours-long dinner. Despite the fact that the Diet Coke has been replaced with Sancerre and we no longer prank call our crushes, my social circle until recently seemed just as no-boys-allowed as it was back when my parents were making the rules.
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I could blame my job (up until now, I worked for a women's magazine where there were just three men on staff), my alma mater (Barnard College, an all-women's institution), or my location (New York City, with a population that skews female). But, it's also my own fault. Because, while I've always been down for meeting a man for a date, I