And so I frequently have to choose between making time for a friend and making time for me. Usually I win. But is this healthy? And is it healthy to feel fretful[15] when the telephone dares to ring? I can’t tell you how often we hear the phone and before it gets to the second ring I am shouting to my kids, “Don’t answer it!” Terrible, terrible, terrible. I receive e-mails with the subject line “Girls’ Night Out!!!” and not only do I not think, Woo-hoo[16]!!! as I’m undoubtedly meant to, but I just want to crawl under my desk.
Actually I love people, at least as a concept. I have inherited my father’s tendency to engage in conversation with any stranger who crosses his path, because you never know what you might learn from the cute waiter or the lovely checkout girl. My parents, who still seem to know better than I do, even though I am now in my 40s, are no help here. They don’t seem to have this problem. They have tennis friends and work friends; golf friends and skiing friends; country-club and movie-club friends. They have friends they’ve known since college and law school as well as many others they’ve picked up along the way. It has always been this way. When I was a kid, it seemed as if their life was one long dinner party, with brief interruptions for child care and work. They have made wise investments in friendships over time and are reaping handsome dividends[17]. If I refuse to participate in girls’ nights out now, who will go to lunch with me when I’m 80?
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