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I never understood why people underestimated "the girlfriends." No, I'm not referring to the ladies lovingly slinked over chiseled biceps, consistently posting flicks of her #MCM and with his name saved as a set of the heart eyed emojis in her phone. I'm talking about the girl-franssss, which nobody wants to proudly claim anymore for some reason.  Last month, I went to two sleepovers. For the first one, my friend had planned for it to be this big thing with facials, manis and pedis, movies and life planning. There ended up only being 6 of us: her, me, her best friend, her co-worker, and her two overly affectionate tabby cats, Vera and Irve (yes, like the designers). I only really knew her well, but I didn't leave feeling that way. We spent hours watching (and then suffering from soured moods from) Winnie Mandela , starting on Sarafina before pausing the movie midway to vent about ain't-shit men and opening up and closing off and how men really fe