13 going on 44

Whitney and I became best friends when we were in 8th grade at Newman Junior High. That spring her dad took us to England and let us run loose in London. The concierge at our hotel was assigned to keep an eye on us ("Ladies, Ladies, Ladies - don't be lazy!" he said when we wanted to call a cab instead of catching the bus).

Now we are hot 40-somethings talking about our kids at that same age and worrying that they can't negotiate the tricky politics of junior high or the streets on New York in midday at 17. I think we just need to remember ourselves in those days - riding the tube, babysitting ('nuf said!) and slapping David Adams - to know that Whitney's dad was right all along: Rule #57 - Good girls are fun.