OUR WINTER SPREAD OF THE O.C.T.P.F.A.S.
The jury may be out on witches but a recent look at our back East bare-essential bookworms seems ready to shed some sunlight on the subject.
Before spending time digging out like the rest of the East Coast, the cerebral coed sit-ins continued indoors at both a coffee shop and a female friendly spa. Support for the group is spreading, one open mind at a time.
How I wish for a summit between current moms group and the pulp fiction readers, but the NYC group isn’t FTN*. I respect that.
So here after the jump, we catch up with our favorite over the mountains group of intelligent, interesting women, the Outdoor Coed Topless Pulp Fiction Appreciation Society, back outdoors as a symbol of the first pink buds of Spring. (Must be 18 years of age to make jump; you agree to such terms by making the jump)
"It looks like we won't see anything with nuts today, except squirrels."
"This looks like a good place to put stuff. Nothing will get wet."
A reader who remembers last Valentine's Day shouts, "Let's build a snow-MAN, ladies."
"Every man likes a little head, and they all have one."
"It's a snow-MAN, not a snow-woman, ladies. This look about right?"
"Looks like Harry," says one reader. "Thank god Henry came along." "What is it with you and 'Hs'," asks another? They all laugh.
"This is how you Tina Turner your man," says the Eastern European reader,
...before a last shout of "I Love Dr. Zhivago!!" into the waning sun.
Meanwhile, back at the ranch...
[*- Free The Nipple - ed]