As I wile away the gorgeous April hours in the purgatory of the New York Superior Court system, I'll remember our gorgeous Easter Sunday. Jury duty when it's 70 degrees outside? Counselor, is this legal?
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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