where barney goes to party

On the surface, I suppose there couldn’t be two more different friends. Where Kathleen is cool and sophisticated, I’m a mass of frayed edges and flakiness. Kathleen’s hair is short and neat; mine is a shaggy mess, down my back, in my eyes, everywhere. Kathleen carries her Kenneth Cole bag with style and panache; I dart in and out of coffee shops with my handmade Guatemalan sack bulging by my side. And I wish I could bring the serenity of Kathleen’s home and force it on my three rough-and-tumble children, my writing career, the business my husband and I own, the constant ringing of the phone.
Soon my husband will leave to start his new job in the Mile High City. Kathleen will leave for the Big Apple, and I’ll be stuck here in the city where Barney goes to party.

This month has been horrible. We are making our move because my husband lost his job – the job that supports our family, our personal business (which doesn’t actually make any money), everything. The folks in Denver called him and the rest, as they say, is history. Kathleen’s is different – her move centers around an amazing job opportunity that she would have been a fool not to take. Her house is all but sold; she has a place to live in NYC. But still, it’s moving. And all of it is overwhelming. I can’t believe Kathleen is going through many of the same things, at the same time. If I had to do this on my own, I don’t know how I’d ever get through it.