I have a friend who just started dating again not long ago. So did I, for that matter, but that is not the story being told in this post. Because of this somewhat unusual coincidence, I want to make it overwhelmingly clear that when I say "I have a friend..." I mean exactly that: this story is about a real friend of mine. I am not using the phrase in the ABC Afterschool Special kind of way, like "I have a friend whose parents are getting divorced," or "I have a friend who makes herself throw up when she eats." No. This is a real story, about a real friend. Okay.
My friend called me the other day to share news of her recent adventures. All of them have been very safe, and very responsible, and very flirty, and very fun. Some of them have ended early and chastely, and others have ended differently from that. One was particularly remarkable:
"So," she confided over the phone, "I had a sleepover. BUT NOT that kind of sleepover! Nothing happened. So much of nothing happened that I didn't even get undressed. It was like something from Sex in the City."
Sigh. This is yet another situation in which not having had television since 1999 really hampers my ability to have social conversations. "What do you mean, like something from Sex in the City?" I asked.
"Well," she said, "I hadn't planned to sleep over and I didn't want to take my clothes off so I slept in my dress."
THAT'S awesome, I think. I am so proud of my friend for going out an having fun...even if she her adventures only get told in blogland and not on cable TV.
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