Poor EE found herself at the mercy of a super smart, well connected city all alone on the first Hump Day of the Month of Love. Newly divorced and feeling every bit of singledom, she reached out in an exasperated yelp to a gal about town. “ Come to me!”
A hero without a cape, the former dancer slid up the grand elevator, down the corridor, a primp at the vanity, and a grand entrance fit for a queen. Frowning in an empty sitting parlor, she confessed: I was ditched.
Not a time for self-flagellation, she was advised to get her pumps and out the door, into a yellow cab, and down, down, down the FDR Drive. Scenic. An opportunity for an update. The Host at Solas: a known friend. The downstairs: a known party. Upstairs: a known cultural hub. Everywhere the retired danseuse turned, a bise, an embrace, a where have you been? Look, this is EE, our guest of honor (forget the nep) blonde, lubed, and ready to blow the spectacle away.
Madison Murray and her Masshole fury close the evening, no one led astray.
A burger, chocolate, and baby oil to close the night. No tears, EE, no tears. Never let them see the fight. You, Queen, and the night.
