Saturday night, at a swank party hosted by a dear friend, I found myself across from two guys who are my age-ish, which is to say, Supreme Court candidate Brett Kavanaugh’s age-ish, which is to say in our early 50s.
At my friend’s urging, I’d just met and instantly clicked with the wife of one of the guys, a brilliant feminist filmmaker. The conversation—books and TV, politics, the generalized clusterfuck that is parenting—left me feeling understood and connected in that way that reminds you why it’s important to slap on some concealer and drag your tired butt out to parties even if Netflix beckons. These were clearly my people.
'It’s like, who didn’t do something stupid when they were in high school?' he said.
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