The Misanthrope’s Corner

Messalina with a Master’s Degree

THANK GOD I’m over the hill. The only heat I have left comes from hot flashes, my promiscuity is confined to the words “one size fits all,” and I buy my white cotton unmentionables at Boadicea’s Retreat, not Victoria’s Secret. Nothing described at the Palm Beach rape trial could possibly happen to me now unless we’re invaded by some Slavic republic whose soldiers aren’t fussy.