Meet Tiffany. Tiffany lives with her husband, Hampton Longfield IV, in a sprawling cedar-shingled waterfront manor in Rhode Island, thanks to Ham’s multi-generational wealth stemming from a great grandfather’s patent on a special spring that fits onto any standard gasoline engine’s third piston when run counter-clockwise. “Tiff” has mastered her role as Lady of the Manor having schooled herself in antiques collecting, nautical flag identification, silver patterns and tasteful taxidermy. Tiff and Ham host various hunts each year at their country home, so they have five bird dogs used primarily for these occasions. Tiff makes a big show of adoring these dogs but secretly she hates them because they’re always sniffing her crotch while she tries to make pleasantries with their guests. What most people don’t know about Tiffany is that her birth name is Kiki Byrd and she is actually from a small town in W. Virginia where she worked as a cashier at Dairy Queen for several years, has an ex boyfriend who is now her town’s chief meth dealer, wore a confederate flag bikini in the summers, and got in two actual fistfights as a teen. She also used to have a multi-pierced belly button and a rumored piercing farther south, if you know what I mean. But that’s unconfirmed (it hurt a little just to write that). Eventually Kiki decided she was going to get out of that town after her cousin, Perry, approached her about working as a dancer at the strip club he owned located at the back of a truck stop. Kiki changed her name to Tiffany and headed to New England, stringing together waitressing jobs long enough to allow her to prowl the high end restaurant bars on her nights off. She fed a false life story to many, but Ham Longfield finally took the bait, and the rest is history. Tiff is full of shit, and has actually convinced herself to feel legitimately superior to their domestic help, but she is also a survivor and had all of us fooled. So raise your Pabst to Tiffany!
This is a GORGEOUS light blue velvet. Hop on the website to choose the hardware!
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....
