Women don’t really dress for men; we dress for other women. We choose “statement jewelry”, avoid over-matching and follow seasonal clothing rules, all for other women. A man doesn’t reject a woman for wearing white after Labor Day. It doesn’t even occur to him. But women, women will call the fashion police with their eyes. Those bitches. I met Pam at book club. She’s the girl next door, if the girl next door looks like Sheryl Crow and is effortlessly put together, humble and warm. Before the end of a night discussing Tina Fey’s Bossy Pants, she told us about a party she would be having called Estrogenfest. Women only. Hanging…

1988. Chicago. Seventh grade. Braces. Headgear at night. My musical epiphanies were Richard Marx and the Bangles. The only things that mattered to me were keeping up my grades, playing softball and practicing my Torah portions for my Bat Mitzvah. This year, we got a new math teacher. His name was Mr. Black. He was pretty dreamy for a math teacher- dark hair, blue eyes and dimples on top of an athletic physique. 26 years old, an ex-marine full of great comebacks to our failed math attempts like, “close doesn’t count except in horseshoes and hand grenades”. We never had a teacher like Mr. Black before. All our other teachers…

I make sure my coworkers aren’t anywhere near my office and I type “sex toy party” into a search. I find an 800 number for a place called Fantasy World in Lexington, Kentucky. “Thank you for callin Fantasy Whiirld. How ken we heehlp yew? “Uh. Hi. I’m in Chicago and I’m planning a fundraiser for a breast cancer walk. I’m trying to do a party where some of the sales can go to charity. Do you have someone who could do that?” “Well, our closest representative’s in Indiana. You know, yew could become a sales representative and do the party on yer own. “… How would I do THAT?” “We…