I made a new friend. At work. Because owning a bookstore means my new friends come to me. I’m lucky that way. Anyway, this new friend, she’s smart. And a lot silly. She likes books. And she wears cooler clothes than me, which I find funky, inspiring, and (surprisingly) not threatening. She’s younger than me, but I never feel like somebody’s uncool mom around her. She asks thoughtful questions. And she’s good at doing the next very helpful thing that needs to be done. The thing I didn’t even know needed doing. She’s a good listener. And she’s got these super corny quips that work book titles into our conversation; it cracks me up every time, even when I groan and pretend it doesn’t. But my favorite thing is the ease of her presence. Not everyone is that way, easy to be around. She is, though. In a world where women too often compete with each other instead of throwing our arms around each other and celebrating our fucking brilliant existance, I got gifted this friend. And this is me, throwing my arms around her.