Why do pretty housewives like Amy Collins so often fall into that common trap - the afternoon hour at some bar? Do they drink because of loneliness, boredom with a society that offers too little to women? Or is it the other way around? Is it the alcohol itself that generates the urge for male companionship, excitement, thrills?
A heavenly body in a deadly orbit of men and martinis, the golden Amy wasn’t old enough to vote. But she was old enough, smart enough, to know life need not be dull while Chip, her lusty husband, was away. All she had to do was drown her inhibitions in a bottle, then throw herself into the arms of the nearest man. If Chip learned of it, she could still hold him. He loved her, didn’t he? Besides she was by far the prettiest, sexiest thing in sight!
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