Oh yes, it's Ladies Night ...

Here in Section 26 of Coles Crossing, there is a monthly Ladies Night — an informal gathering of all the moms/housewives who dwell in the identical houses that line the curving suburban streets. My name made its way onto the Evite list, so last night I ventured out.

My first concern was over what to wear; you don't want to be underdressed and look as if you don't care, thus branding yourself as lazy, and you don't want to overdo it and be seen as trying too hard, or too sexy, thus the neighborhood Edie Britt. I think I know enough at this point in my life so choose capri pants and sandals — I am who I am, after all.

The women were nice enough. I don't know anyone well, so it all feels a little strange. All our houses look just alike, so I find it interesting when people gush over someone's house. The floor plans are identical!

I feel at times as if I am living in a combination of Stepford-land and Wisteria Lane. As I said, people are pleasant enough. But I really feel as if I don't fit it. It all seems a bit superficial — people chat with me for about five minutes, then are clearly ready to move on. And the conversation lacked substance. It's not as if everyone is young, thin and beautiful — I'm sure these are all normal women, with normal lives and normal problems. They all put on a show as if everything is perfect, but it can't be. I cannot be the only flawed woman in this community.

Yet it feels that way sometimes. I'm still looking for my place. It's here — I just have to find it. There are so many women around here; someone must have something in common with me. Nicole Kidman found Bette MIdler — I just have to keep looking. God — this is worse than dating ...