Another senator (yawn) was caught with his pants down. Starshine ponders the nature of Capitol Hill canoodling.
Writer & Columnist • Santa Barbara, CA
Writer & Columnist • Santa Barbara, CA
Another senator (yawn) was caught with his pants down. Starshine ponders the nature of Capitol Hill canoodling.
She pan-fries with purpose, char-broils with cheer and grills with a Calphalon grin. She’s the merry meal-maker, ever disposed to whip up a hot and hearty supper for her grumbling-tummied groom.
When he’s home for dinner, she’ll toast the bread, salt the beans, trim the steak and chill the salad — because that’s the way he likes it best. She’ll bust out the good napkins and soil every pan in the kitchen just so he can enjoy a “proper” meal. The kind his mommy used to make.
But tomorrow, when he’s working late, she’ll stand at the kitchen counter plucking almonds from the trail mix and polishing off her kids’ leftover yogurt while thumbing through the junk mail.
And she’ll take an impish thrill in doing it.
As summer vacations get airborne, Starshine pens a personal letter to first-class passengers everywhere.
I owe you all a big apology. Because when I was a kid? Growing up in the San Fernando Valley? We talked in this totally weird way and all? And, like, it spread.