I fell in love with you last Friday night in Miami.
But don't worry. It's not what you may think. I'm not a stalker. And I'm not (too) crazy.
I'm just a 47 year-old (happily married) mother of a teenage daughter.
In 1998, when I left Manhattan for suburban South Florida, I hadn't owned a car for 11 years. Didn't want one. Didn't need one. I had the subways and the buses, my own two feet and eventually, a boyfriend turned husband who had a beat-up Hyundai.
My refrigerator died two and a half weeks ago. After 14 years, almost to the day, the poor thing had finally had enough. And its death was not surprising.
My family worked that fridge hard. Babies to teens. First marriage to a second one. While all around it, things changed. New paint color. New flooring. Two...
What to wear? Are my roots showing? Do I need to get my mustache waxed? These were some of the things that I was thinking about in the days before my 30 year high school reunion. Then, of course, there were also these thoughts: Who’s going to show up? Will the women all be fat and...
I'm going home this weekend for my high school reunion.
I graduated 30 years ago.
Thirty years is a long time.
A really, really long time.
A few weeks before my first wedding, 18 years ago, I decided that I needed to have my makeup “done”.
I was working in midtown Manhattan, at Crain’s New York Business, and our office wasn’t too far from the Saks Fifth Avenue. (You know, the one on Fifth Ave.)
Normally, Saks wouldn't have been my go-to for...