YEARS AGO, not long after ending a marriage, I was having coffee with two women, new acquaintances, when we discovered that we were all divorced. “Yay!” one cried. “Hot Divorcées Club!” Something shrank and recoiled in me. Why must we be hot? Couldn’t we just be divorced? Plus, what in divorce, a thing about as common as marriage, made it worthy of a club? Both being married and being divorced seemed equally empty categories on which to stake an identity. That these two ladies were above average in the physical attractiveness stakes is not the point, nor is that semi-facetious striving for common ground in which new female friendships are forced or forged. The point was we couldn’t just be women who’d been married and now were not.
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