Meanwhile . . .
Let's play a game. I would call it a creative exercise but game is more fun. Besides, I'll give a prize for the answer I like best. Creative exercises don't get prizes. They get grades or self-satisfaction. I say let's do game and tangible.
Here's what's going to happen. I'm going to tell you about a couple of women I saw shopping together in the grocery store. Then, I'm going to ask you a question about them. Not anything like, "What color were her polyester shorts?" but a speculative question.
They had that worn-out look about them that came from factory work, softball, late beer nights, and divorces. One looked like she'd had her hair cut by the only idle stylist in a walk-in salon the day before Easter. The other should have availed herself of that because she was too old to have all that hair hanging down her back. Their dark rusty tans didn't do anything to improve their looks, but they didn't know that. They were excited from the tops of their Lady Clairol heads down to their rubber flip flops. Their shopping buggy was full of charcoal, sirloin steaks, potatoes, store brand mayonnaise, and Cool Whip. Clearly, they were going to have a party.
Here's the question: Who were their guests going to be?