It started innocently enough. The woman who has been wrangling my hair into presentable shape for the better part of three decades was celebrating her 49^th birthday. Rosemarie had had a difficult year. The financial pressures of being in business for herself, plus her long-time partner’s entry into a skilled nursing facility, were taking their toll. Three of her customers, Katie, Linda and I, decided that a civilized night out on the town was just what Rose needed to mark the day.

Rose is not what you would call an adventurous eater, but she selected a Japanese steakhouse because it sounded like fun and the food would be cooked all the way through, unlike (shudder) sushi. Knives were flashed, various proteins were sliced and diced before our eyes, and when the evening was over, four acquaintances had become four friends.

We decided to do it again. The next month’s cuisine was Brazilian, and Rose invited Chris, another faithful customer and mother of five, to join us. We each received a little green and red disc slightly larger than a poker chip. Turn the green side up, and handsome men bearing long spikes of freshly grilled meats would descend upon the table, heaping food on our plates. Turn the red side up, and they would stay away. Much laughter (and much MUCH eating) ensued.

When we came up for air, we agreed that we’d discovered something special. Dining out regularly with a sympathetic group of women was just what we needed, but until now, hadn’t realized. We were all from different neighborhoods in Chicago, but besides our tie to Rose and her hair salon, we had little in common. Some had children, some did not. Some were homemakers, others had full-time jobs. But we were all women, and we were all, as they say, “of a certain age.”

We made plans to do it again the following month. And we decided to make it an official club. But what could we call ourselves? What would be descriptive, yet have the appropriate attitude? Linda, our 60-ish school teacher, suddenly shouted, “I’ve got it! We’ll be the Dining Divas. We’ll call ourselves the Double-D’s for short!”

And so it came to pass.

Today, the Divas count eight regulars, all over 50. There is Dawn, who runs an energy business with her husband and like me, has two children entering adulthood. (We were driving to dinner together one night and realized that we were both married on the very same day nearly 28 years ago!) There is Gloria, single and ageless and scathingly funny. And there is Mary, an avid gardener who will love rock and roll forever. And there is Cathy, a petite registered nurse and married mom of two.

It’s been two years and counting now. We’ve dined all over the Chicago area, north, south, east and west. From a Chinatown noodle joint, to Emilio’s Tapas for Spanish food, to Greek Town, and multiple forays into Chicago’s famed Italian and Mexican restaurants. We’ve experienced Oktoberfest together, gathered in a church basement to celebrate Linda’s retirement party with all of her friends and family, and four of us even traveled to New York for a long weekend of sightseeing (and eating, naturally). We share the ups and down of mid-life, surviving the recession, handling college expenses, and we shake our heads wisely over the poor, benighted men in our lives. As one of us said, “It’s like a book group…only better, because there is no book!”

Each month, somebody volunteers to find a fun location and handle reservations. Then we arrive with our month’s backlog of stories, pictures, and laughs. And at the center of each dinner is Rosemarie, our Diva-in-Chief. Rose has known each of us for 25 or more years. She knows our quirks and foibles, and she intuitively figured out how each of us would complement the others.

Back in the days before nightclubs and television, soirees known as “salons” were extremely popular. Dictionary.com defines them as “an assembly of guests, common during the 17th and 18th centuries, consisting of the leaders in society, art, politics, etc.” Benjamin Franklin was a regular at the Paris salons during his tenure as the American Revolution’s spokesman. Our Rosemarie runs a hair salon, but the “salon” she created in the Dining Divas is unique. For each of us, the Divas provide a special support network outside of the usual family and friends.

We’ve come a long way from that first dinner during troubled times. As Divas, we’ve cheered as Rosemarie picked up the pieces of her life. She is now happily engaged to Dan, a Dining-Diva-approved gentleman who loves her with all his heart.

But we still can’t convince her to try sushi!