me too.

Last night some girlfriends came over to watch The Help with Riley and I.

They brought red velvet cupcakes, Cheez-its and popcorn.

I would have let them in without the treats, but that was a pretty great bonus.

We chatted, we watched the film and then we chatted some more.

We debated the importance of the deep part in a man’s head of hair.  (Two for, two against.)

We compared the film to the novel.  (Hands down, books are better.  True here too.)

We talked about kids and salaries and dogs and rice and grocery shopping and using the free internet at the library.

About the fear from late night bad dreams and the danger of examining your life’s goals too early in the morning and the reality of measuring what we have in comparison to what someone else has.

No one really had any answers for anyone else.

We weren’t even asking.

Instead, we were all just sharing, just talking, just chatting.

And saying all that sometimes needs to be said . . .

“Me too.”