When I worked as a magazine editor, I had a great friendship with our publisher.  Her name was (and still is, actually) Brenda. She was in her mid-40s and one of those women who just oozes confidence.  She had a wicked sense of humor, a commanding presence, and a really, really nice shoe collection.  She’d done very well for herself –  an editor by 26 (like me), a decades-long career in journalism, with a knowledge of the industry that made me want to sit at her feet and soak up everything she knew.  She was one of those people who knows how to get what she wants by treating people well, but also has an ever-so-slightly intimidating edge – just the right amount to keep people from messing with her.

Anyway, I was sitting in Brenda’s office one day, having a discussion about an upcoming issue of the magazine, and…