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Most everyone has made at least one or two regrettable choices in that department.
But this is a remarkably gendered attack, and, if you’re a sexist, a fairly brilliant one.
Since when did it become okay for us to spend our evening hours eating Pepperidge Farm Goldfish, often washed down with a light chardonnay?
On a lark for a girlfriend's birthday, a group of us piled into an RV and drove from Los Angeles to Burning Man, the weeklong pagan arts festival in the Nevada desert.
My production partner of 10 years, a married dad I'll call Mr. His company wasn't unusual; he and I were best friends, and we often shared long days while our respective spouses were out of town on business.
Nor did I believe that, in my mid-40s, I would fall in love again.
I had been living with my hardworking, kind, stable husband for 20 years.