"Sometimes you have to go out with a guy even if he's wrong," Allison says, as we watch her date pull off his motorcycle helmet, shake his hair out and spit bug parts into the potted palm.
When it comes to dating, it's a small, small world. Harley used to date our friend Kat, and the intimate details she shared with us remain some of our favorite bedtime stories.
Normally, Allison is not your hand-me-down kinda girl. But Harley turns a pair of holey Levi's into a religion. Long wild hair, eyes like melted chocolate and arms that will make a girl forget English.
"He should come wrapped in a plain brown wrapper," I say, crunching on a pickle.
"He's an animal," Maxine huffs with disgust, as she dumps French onion dip into a bowl.
"You have no idea." Allison shivers.
Al's cheeks may be flushed and her toes curled inside her Pradas, but if you ask us girls, it's a match made in the Twilight Zone. Al went to private schools so private the professors had trouble getting in. She's rich, runs the family business, and pops over to the Riviera like the rest of us go to mall.
Meanwhile, Harley's idea of grounding his future on a firm foundation is carefully securing the concrete block he uses to keep his travel trailer from rolling off the Wal-Mart parking lot.
In an effort to bring Allison to her senses, Maxine has thrown a party