I was in Atlanta again, surrounded by perfect women with perfect bodies, hair, clothes, and makeup. An aesthetician giving me a facial was aghast at my response of “soap” when she asked me what I use on my face. I was the only one of my friends not married, the queen of 3 month relationships with guys who had no intention or capability of going any farther than that. The only thing I knew for sure was that everyone seemed to fit in, but I didn’t.

I was there last night. I was in a noisy bar, surrounded by perfectly tanned, perfectly sculpted biceps of women with perfect hair, bodies, clothes and makeup. I was sitting in the back, as their tables up front were “reserved”, as they told me with a sweet sad smile and a subtle look up and down at my discount store clothes and gray hair. I moved deftly out of their way with my sparkling water as their white wine splashed nonchalantly while air kissing the next best friend to arrive.

Everyone seemed to fit in, but I didn’t.

And I was happy.