Nineteen years ago, not too long after I met my dear husband, Herman, I went back to my Alabama hometown for the wedding of a childhood friend. Like many weddings, this was also a reunion of sorts, for a group of girls–now women hitting age 40–who hadn’t seen each other for years.
We had all gone off to college in 1970. We had all been (oh, the dirty little secret) debutantes together. Most of them had joined sororities and gone on to marry bankers and lawyers. All had stayed in the South but me.
I, on the other hand, divorced my banker and moved to Washington D.C.
I guess I had always been the odd one. Continue reading