Book Club.

Once a month my girlfriends get together for Book Club.  Now, we call it book club and indeed, there ARE in fact, books that we sometimes read.  Let’s put it this way though, if you haven’t read the book, we promise, it’s the one time that faking it is ok.  We have a standing date on the first Thursday of the month, so everyone knows.  {Lest you think the boys are missing out… their night is the first Wednesday of the month.  They don’t even bother to pretend it’s anything but Drink Beer + Smoke Cigars Club.  They are clearly not as fancy as us.}   

It’s not about the reading. 

We leave the kids and the husbands and the partners and the parents and work and all of the other stress at home and we get together to hang out.  We all come from totally different places, there are kids and no kids and husbands and divorces and never been marrieds and all ranges of education and backgrounds and careers.  There are friends from childhood, there are sisters in law and people who’ve only met because of book club.

And it works. 

Because they are awesome.

They are so welcoming and open and so easy.  It is never the same group twice, if you make it, you make it.  If you don’t, well, maybe we will see you next month.  No one cares that there are last minute decisions about where we’ll be meeting.  There are smiles and laughter and re-introductions when names are forgotten.  Adrienne doesn’t roll her eyes too much when we give her totally obscure book questions because seriously, she’s read everything in the universe.  And poor Kate gets all of the English teacher questions but she still rocks a Hunger Games discussion.  They laugh about 50 Shades bringing p0rn to the masses.  They don’t make {too much} fun of you when you take 10 pictures of their cocktail de camerone in a dimly lit restaurant with two phones serving as backlighting.

Not that I know anyone who would do something like that.

Next up… Bossypants.