Getting ​Real (Getting Some 3.) 4 csillagozás

I don’t believe in drinking away your problems, hiding your heartache behind booze . . . but a vodka tonic never hurt anyone.
Scratch that—a double vodka tonic never hurt anyone.

Childhood is the only time you get to think your parents are perfect.

Who needs men when you’ve got friends and FaceTime and copious amounts of wine?

Life is expensive. When you don’t have a lot of pennies coming in, every one counts.

I was serious about the whole, “till death do us part” thing. But I guess everybody kind of is. It’s not like you stand at the altar and think I’m going to divorce the shit out of you one day.

When you find happiness, you can’t take it for granted.

Teenagers argue a lot, but they rarely make actual sense. The times when they do are always accompanied by an odd mix of pride and unease—the feeling that the baby bird is getting ready to fly the nest, that the student is becoming the master . . . that you’re one step closer to possibly getting your ass stuck in a retirement home.

Parents don’t have favorites—we’d cut open a vein for any of our offspring. But some kids are just easier. Low maintenance. Generally happy and don’t mind doing what they’re told.

You can never, ever, have too many people around who love you.

Yes, we know each other. We work together. So you have to swear to me—woman to woman, Girl Scout pledge, sisterhood of the traveling vagina level swear—that you won’t tell anyone what you have learned here tonight. Especially NOT your husband. And it can’t be one of those ‘Oh, honey, I’m going to tell you something but you have to promise not to mention it to your brother’ kind of things that I know all you married people do, because it never works! He’s a man—he’ll talk.