3 martini lunch

It’s all cozy and nice talking to little Emma about cupcake wedding tiers, but what Liv needs right now is something fermented, straight-up (so to speak), adult, and dirty.  Add a little oily fruit, and what do you get?  Doris.

“It’s not a date.  I said drink, not dinner.”

What better way to escape a farmhouse full of Frank than a three martini lunch with the mad hatter.  For Olivia, getting wasted away again in Martyr-itaville is better than facing the fact that Nat and the Frank-furter have moved up the wedding…to this afternoon.  Olivia may have been looking for a “sista” with a little compassion, but Doris is not the caring kind to allow her one pathetic moment of cowardice or pity.  Doris is living her closeted life through OTALIA right now, and like so many of us, will be damned to see it screwed up by a daytime diva hiding behind her well aged gin.

Doris is us; she is the mouthpiece of the viewer, the fan, and the OTALIA widow that wants her spouse back from the abyss.  She is bellied up to the bar telling Olivia not what she wants to hear, but what she needs to hear.  For every angst ridden big purple dreamer yelling at the TV and computer screen, Doris is telling her to stop talking with her eyes and start speaking with her mouth!   Olivia, tear your right foot off the Beacon barstool and get back to the farm.  You have to stop this wedding before it ruins the lives of all of us…and I mean ALL of us.

Doris, now is the time to don that superhero cape, you know, the one that goes with the pretty hat, and save the world as we know it…and want it.  We are counting on you to give Liv a snoot full of confidence to go along with that libation.  Those martinis are not the only thing shaking…or stirring…in Springfield.