Years ago, I read an essay by Nora Ephron called “Moving On.” In addition to being one of the best writer-directors of rom-coms ever, Nora Ephron was a hell of a nonfiction writer. Her essays are droll and observant and a bit too spot on.
“Moving On” is in her collection I Feel Bad About My Neck And Other Thoughts About Being A Woman. I can almost hear, in Ephron’s dry voice, the sentence, “But we’ll let men read it too.”
“Moving On” first appeared in The New Yorker, which . . .
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