Meet Debbie. She’s living that yacht life in 1982. She’s a divorcé making the most of her financial independence. Her yacht is named “Baker Street” so you could say her sax life is pretty good. 😎🎷 Debbie loves the smooth sounds of Steely Dan, and worships at the altar of Christopher Cross. She prefers to snort her coke in the galley to the sweet sound of Ambrosia, and limits herself to smoking 15 Virginia Slims a day - she’s come a long way, baby. Debbie is an absolute sucker for a skinny, tan man in a captain’s hat, aviators and a shirt unbuttoned dangerously far. Only short shorts will do - legs nicely toned from days spent on the racquetball court. The best that she can do is fall in love. Debbie is setting sail on her love boat with her lead deckhand tomorrow…make a wish, baby. TAKE HER HOME!
As Courtney was handed the rule pamphlet, she swore she saw the Da Vinci code. Symbols swirled around, English words became foreign and strange. She somehow now knows how to set up a VCR after reading them, but still does not quite understand how to win atMahjong.
Last week she ordered each of them one of those gadgets that shatters your car window in case of a full water immersion. She also ordered a wind up radio. You know, in case the power grid goes down. She changed the air filters in the house last month, and commented that Olive Garden is a heck of a deal if you get a family sized pan with a five dollar take-home add-on. She’s been cracking open a Bud heavy after yoga class lately, and finally decided to try out a MyPillow.
But here she sits, six years after her appointment with WIDK reporting on milk prices, beauty pageants, the occasional car theft, Alderman election scandals, and downtown green space clean up efforts. This stupid little town doesn’t deserve her. She’s meant for greatness, and she despises their perky greetings on the streets....
