If I were a jewel thief – a career that no guidance counselor ever suggested for me – I would target book clubs. I went to my book club last night, where all but two of us cheerfully admitted that we hadn’t read the book and one woman , a mother of three girls 2 and under, didn’t even know what book we had been supposed to read. But there was wine, which was all any of us were after.
We all sat around talking about our kids for two hours and, as we all got drunker and started to gesture more and more wildly in imitations of the toddlers who are the reason we know each other at all, I was struck by the glinting of many, many diamonds. Every woman in the room has a pretty darned impressive engagement ring and, if I know us and our husbands at all, a pretty comprehensive insurance policy on them. So if a masked individual with a gun, even an unloaded gun, even a fake gun, burst into the room and demanded our rings, I feel pretty confident that we’d hand them over with hesitation. I know I would. There is a time for sentiment and there is a time for staying alive to be driven nuts by the very kids you were complaining good-naturedly about a moment before.
So, I’m going to file “Book Club Bandit” away as a possible career move in things ever get really bad.