I have not been in a book club where there were any men, and I have not, in fact, heard of book groups that were mixed.
In this wide world, I don't think that there's just one person for any of us. I think we look until we find one that feels right, and oftentimes, it works out just fine.
If I could visit dead authors, I'd head right over to E. B. White, though I'm so in awe of him I'd probably just sit at his feet and weep. He's the master of clarity, of understated humor, of palatable political conviction.
As a child, I saw my mother prepare for Christmas every year, and it never occurred to me that labor was involved. I thought it was my mother's joy and privilege to hang tinsel on the tree strand by strand, to make sure that every room in the house had a touch of Christmas, down to the Santa-themed rug and hand towels in the bathroom.
I loved the 'Three Stooges.' I still do - nyuk, nyuk.
Not being as self-contained as men, we need to share things: It's almost as though you only know what you feel about things after you share them with a woman.