THE FANTASY: Wiping the sweat from her eyes with her monogrammed Club Westbrook towel, and sipping elegantly from her Evian water bottle, penni laughs at the comments of her handsome personal trainer, who has been in love with her for months and works for free. She removes her the sweatbands from wrists and forehead, which match perfectly her designer workout clothes, size 2, and heads for the bar, intending to call the cook first to make sure dinner will be served promptly at 8:00 and that her maid has the desired outfit laid out for her.
THE REALITY: Wiping the sweat from her eyes with the hem of her tattered 10 year old Happily Mauied t-shirt, and gulping greedily from the Gatorade bottle, which she refills all day long from the sink, she swears as the top leaks all over her mismatched workout clothes from WalMart. Her son yells, "What's for dinner?" as she passes him on her way to the kitchen. "Strawberries," she says nastily and looks in the freezer for something to serve with them, thinking again that Alexa really ought to provide some practical recipes featuring tremendous amounts of strawberries as their chief ingredient. She wonders how chicken would taste smothered in strawberries and fried.
She smells her shirt to see if she really needs to shower before she cooks. |
