On the rainy afternoon of October 1st, I walked into Dee Dee Peckers, a local wing joint here in Charleston. It was my 43rd birthday, and I had been looking forward to meeting with two fabulous friends all week. Still adjusting to the darkened atmosphere, my eyes scanned the crowd. In a dining area filled with mounted televisions tuned to sports channels and men in work shirts hunched over tables filled with beer and baskets of wings, I saw two hands shoot up and wave me over from the well-lit booth by the window. Doretha Walker, Angie and I were excited about enjoying an afternoon with sister-girlfriends. Like silly school girls,…