It’s warm, it’s sunny, it’s sybaritic. The seduction is intense and complete. You can wander in tank tops and flip flops at midnight, the desert is, indeed, a temptress.
But the truly scary vision of and aged snobird, polyester pantsuit, pulled facial grimace, bleached hair and immense Lincoln, toddering into the local food haunts was all I needed to snap me out of my momentary reverie and remind of why I left here, screaming, back to the real world.
Reality TV needs to do a show on THIS place!
The Fake Widows of Palm Springs.