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There was my mom lying on a gurney, with one leg clearly much shorter than the other. Even after birthing four kids, I still became nauseous at the sight of blood and had to talk myself out of throwing up.
“I could chime into their conversations, ask them what they thought about the movie, ask if they laughed at the same parts I laughed at. But I don’t. It’s enough to know that they just visited the same pretend world I visited.”
Put on the comfy pants and settle in to The TueDo List — a weekly compendium of pop-culture must-reads, stuff we’re obsessed with, and storytelling from women 40+.
Workshops, courses, events + sisterhood — exclusively for Gen-X women.
My frustration with handbags started in the ‘80s. Back then, the “it” bag among the private all-girls schools in the Washington, DC suburbs was this Coach model that practically spat out pens, pencils, and frosted pink Maybelline lipsticks, because Bonnie Cashin was too cheap or lazy to put a zipper under the flap. I still get angry thinking about that purse. It had one job — containing my crap — and it failed miserably.
