There is a mystique that every little girl has been spoon fed since they could twirl around in a polyester skirt. That is the fairytale that somewhere in the universe is a man that will know the paisley swirls of her soul better than she knows them herself and that he will love her and cherish her through every turn and switchback of those swirls. Most young women embrace this fairytale without too much questioning or incredulity. They swallow the hook like a hungry fish.
It is only with age that the illusion of that fairytale erodes to a patina, and the truth is reveled to be more infinitely beautiful than every expected. There is no man that will magically decipher the depths of her soul. But, there is a group of people that will not only understand her soul, they will celebrate it, and they will cradle it in their loving embrace until all the broken pieces heal together.
The fairytale hardly ever includes them. But, they are the girlfriends that have also woken to the dream of the fairytale. They are the sisterhood that rushes in like an undammed river to fill in the emptiness left by the realization that the fairytale is only an illusion. The reality is infinitely more satisfying than the vapid dream.