I think I just joined a book club. I went Friday night to my neighbor’s book club to meet people, drink wine, and talk about The Snow Child (we certainly talked about it, but that was far from the main event). There were 9 other women there, and all of them have known each other for a long time, so I wasn’t sure how this was going to go. Four people in this group started the book club FOURTEEN years ago (one of them is my neighbor), and three of those four (the three who are not my neighbor) have known each other since high school (which for me was 15 years ago, so longer than that for them. I think). Thankfully, it was not at all awkward. They were so welcoming, really friendly, and despite the fact that I was the only one there who does not work for a local school district in any capacity and who doesn’t have kids, I didn’t feel like an outsider. It was fun. Really pleasant. I’d like to do it again.
It could have been a movie. All of these women, all gorgeous in cute but casual clothes, clustered in ever-changing groups around the island in our hostess’s beautiful kitchen, chatting, drinking wine, snacking. I can just see a camera swooping in from an upper angle and swirling around to follow snippets of conversations. Later, the camera would follow our move to the family room to talk about the book. We sat in a circle around the coffee table (some on the floor, on the couch, on ottomans), and the camera would shift from the middle of the group to an over-the-shoulder shot and back until it lifts out of the center and off to the side.
I think I’ve already seen this movie.