I don’t like Mother’s Day. As a single female with no kids, it’s the one day of the year I’m reminded, well, of that. Publicly. In the church where I used to go, they’d have a big celebration for Mothers. And give them a single red rose, or carnation. Guess who didn’t get one? Well that is, until finally someone in the church, probably somebody like me, said “hey! This sucks.” And I started being included. But I still didn’t really belong to the club. It’s an odd world for a single woman with no kids. Other people have to find things to ask you about since they can’t ask the normal things. How are your kids? Husband? House remodeling? All the things women love to talk, or complain-brag about, are off the table. So you have to give them things to talk about: an alternate identity as it were. “I’m a traveler. A scuba diver. A photographer. A violinist.” Whatever it is, you have to give them something to ease their plain discomf...