She kept dropping her magazines and apologizing. As the plane took off, I realized that I was seated next to a highly intoxicated middle aged women. A bombed broad, if you will. I never got her name, but boy, did I get her story.
She lives in Palm Springs, sandwiched in between big homes with celebrities. The community where she resides is gated. Recently, she got divorced. Her ex is an asshole and she is so, so happy he isn’t in her life any more. But she’s worried that her super rich, beautiful sister is trying to sabotage her life. She is an heir to the family apple and cherry orchards. She doesn’t understand why they are not making wine out of the fruit. She interviewed in Paris to sell wine for Catherine Deneuve. Do I know who Catherine is?
“Yes,” I said as I shoveled chips and guacamole in my mouth. I offered her a chip. As she reached over to grab a snack from my bag I noticed beautiful rings on her fingers and I complemented her.
“I need another ring, ” She slurred.
“Me too,” I said.
She can’t stop talking.
“I’m just so glad that I bought my house, because if my sister has her way, I’ll be out on the street with nothing. Not even grocery money. SHE’S TRYING TO STEAL THE ORCHARD AND IT’S NOT HAPPENING. Let me tell you, I’ve lawyered up!
I’m just worried about my daughter. I think her boyfriend makes her sad. She’s not the same…it’s like she hit her head. Maybe he hit her head? Better not. She needs out.
I love my house. I like to decorate with themes in mind. Like an all Paris theme is cool. One time I was at my boyfriends house and I don’t know…maybe I had a premonition. I decided to leave and walk the dog. When I got inside my house, there was this guy standing in my kitchen and going through a wallet. Idiot, the wallet was empty! And you know what I did? (She raised her folded arms to her chest and started pushing the seat in front of her). I started to go after him like a football player and then he just womped me on the head and I passed out. He left. He didn’t get anything. Now I have alarms everywhere. I even hide my purse and sometimes I can’t find it.
Yeah, I’m a party girl. I dated a guy in the NFL. I want to be a model. Always wanted to be a model. I did stuff for REI and Eddie Bauer, but my Daddy said, ‘Models are SLUTS.’ Well, you know what I heard on the radio the other day? Older models are in demand! Oprah Winfrey is looking for older models and I’m gonna do it. I think that I need a haircut. Bangs are in, so cute. I’m going to get my haircut like Taylor Swift and become a model. And sell wine.”
“Sounds like a plan,” I said and pressed the button to get a flight attendant the hell over to save my ass.
“I’ll take a beer,” I said.
“Oh, I’m so sorry, we can’t serve due to turbulence,” said the flight attendant.
“Wait, we can’t have drinks? Come on, set us up! Is this like, no way Jose?” asked the aspiring model.
“Sorry,” said the flight attendant.
The aspiring model opened her rattling purse, and extracted a big bottle of pills. She popped a handful of drugs into her mouth. “I need back surgery,” She said.
So, THAT’S her story, “Bummer,” I said.
