My Best Friend's Wedding

My best friend Susan got married today, and it was a joyous and heartwarming affair. The bride was, as tradition demands, absolutely radiant. She carried lilacs, and managed to hide a bluegrass duo in an upstairs room of the Philadelphia mansion to surprise her new husband.

The food was delicious, our table was, as promised, the "fun table," the cocktail hour featured vodka-spiked kaffir limeade, and the following conversation.

Susan (speaking to a colleague of her husband's, and his wife): "I want you to meet my friend Jennifer. She writes books, and one of her books is being made into a movie!"

Me (through a mouthful of spicy duck cigar appetizer): "Shutup."

Wife of colleague: "Oh my goodness. I know you! I know who you are!"

Me (still with mouth full): "Mmphbllm."

W.O.C. (to her husband). "Honey, this is so exciting! You'll never believe it! This is the girl who wrote The Devil Wears Prada!"

Well, not exactly.

But this is what's so great about Philadelphia. Nobody's ever that impressed by you, or if they are, it's because they think you're someone else.

More IN HER SHOES news from Florida in the Sun-Sentinel.

I can also report that Nanna survived her second long day of extra work and got to sing "Happy Birthday" to Shirley Maclaine.

And that was some piece on gossip lit in today's Times, no?

I'm telling you, it's such a handicap to be a young female writer who doesn't live in New York.

Whatever thinly-veiled mudslinging of bad bosses and evil colleagues I've done in my books, it's been thinly-veiled mudslinging about bosses and colleagues in Philadelphia. Ergo, nobody gives much of a crap.

A few observations. One is that, in all the talk about the Nannies and the Devil, nobody's ever come to the allegedly maligned parties' defense.

Nobody's ever said, "Oh, that Anna Wintour! She's just misunderstood!" Or, "Society matrons who mistreat their help just need some love! And possibly a sandwich!"

Also, in all of the slamming of editrexes and socialites, I don't think there's ever been a male boss from hell in any of the gossip books (although The Twins of Tribeca might change all of that). There's some enterprising gender-studies graduate student's Ph.D. thesis in here somewhere.