Girl’s night on the town and C. looks like a Hoover vacuum, coke on any flat surface are her dust and debris. I called “Mimi” to come and save me, talk to me, sip vodka with me instead of snorting dust with the rest. She was at home, watching movies w. her new beau. Smart girl.
Maybe I’ll stay in tonight.
I am a Southerner in the City, an aging debutante, a small town girl cursed with big city aspirations. My grandfather says that I’m at the cusp of feminine failure—I’m as old as a bottle of prime Tennessee whiskey (aged 25 years) and still single. I need to “get on home” and find a nice Southern boy—a doctor, maybe an insurance salesman. At this, I dig in my heels and set out to date every inappropriate man in Manhattan…
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