I tried to write this as an occasional post for Galentine’s Day, but it did not work out and now it is weeks later. I am having a rough winter but on the upside I had even more great conversations with gals in the past few weeks so it is all grist for the mill.

I used to really mistrust women who did not have any women friends. At my advanced age, I have learned that life circumstances and temperament and career path and who knows what else can organize a social life that looks like almost anything, and I shouldn’t automatically suspect. I do however mistrust women who announce that they don’t have women friends because they don't want any, because they believe there's some deficiency in the gender that they and they alone have risen above. Even the softer “I just like hanging out with guys so much better!” often comes barbed. I am a little too old for this phrasology but I believe this is known as the “pick-me girl.” Of course, the desire to be “not like the other girls"—the only one worthy of praise in a bad category—exists in every category that can be categorized. Just to stick to groups I am part of, certainly at any gathering of Canadian writers there will be at least one if not many announcements by Canadian writers that almost no Canadian writing of value is being published in recent years, their own books being the notable exception.

I understand the desire to be the most special one—I understand all too well, I fear—but I also understand the utter delight in being one of many. To be embraced by a group of women is one of the best feelings in life. Perhaps it is because I went through phases as a little kid of not having friends but friendships are something I wake up grateful for on the regular. I was lucky enough not to grow up with anyone telling me I needed to have a boyfriend but I felt the need to have girlfriends. I felt the loneliness and the lack when I didn't have them.

And of course, it’s specific women I want to hang out with, not just any ladies who are willing to sit beside me at the movies. I have spent my life in quest of women friends, and thing is, unlike with husbands, this quest need never be over. I do have male friends—and I cherish them—but when I meet a new man and have a nice conversation, well, then that was a nice conversation. But when I have a nice conversation with a new woman, I am instantly plotting how we might be in touch again, and possibly obtain an ideal casual texting relationship about books and movies and our pets and funny things we saw on the bus and hair products and snacks, punctuated by occasionally going to the symphony together and/or sharing an entire pizza. It is like a platonic crush. I’m not sure if other women in their late 40s have these types of fantasies but honestly, it’s worked out pretty great for me in my actual friendships, and for this, I am very grateful.

You see why this made more sense as a Galentine’s Day tribute post, but…still true!

Bonus Mark Content:

In other news—things have been tough, health-wise, at Casa Sampsenblum. I have had a bit of a cold, resulting as these things always do for me, in laryngitis. The cats, on the other hand, have had some digestive issues. Mark, of course, is always fine, but somewhat tried, emotionally, by the above.

RR (entering the kitchen, waves)
MS (feeding cats) Did you see there was something smeared on the floor in the hallway?
RR (scarcely above a whisper, and yet somehow sounding like squeaky-voice kid) I can’t really talk, Mark.
MS: But you can listen. I’m pouring out my heart here, Rebecca.
RR: Ok.
MS (putting catfood on plates, pacing, ranting) Is this my life now? Just dealing with cat effluvia?
RR (gathers paper towels, moistens them)
MS: I love the cats so much, they are unquestionably an integral part of our lives (gives food to cat) but this is a lot to ask. Allow me (takes paper towels, marches into hallway, RR trailing) You see, it was just there (points into the distance—it’s a long hallway) Wait, back up, maybe it’s visible.
RR (murmurs) I don’t see it. Maybe I walked in it?
MS: Oh gawd. Check your slippers!
RR (checks, slippers are clean)
MS: You know what, I’m just going to mop. We have company coming, we can’t risk it suddenly reappearing.
RR (surprisingly clear) Sounds like something from Edgar Allen Poe.
MS (retrieves mop): Edgar Allen Poop.