Sonja continues to emerge as benign source of ridiculousness. I appreciate the meaningless of her tagline: 'I have a taste for luxury and luxury has a taste for me.' She has dozey, dazed appeal, as if in a constant haze of post-coital bliss. It's like she's just slid out of a limo make-out session with Max before every one of her scenes. At a dinner date with fellow divorcees Kelly and LuAnn, she babbled about her love of sex. Kelly very primly stated that she was not looking for Mr. Thursday, she was looking for Mr. Right. She wants a Renaissance guy, someone who likes to drink beer and play pool and go to the Met. LuAnn, in one of her many humorless snob moments, erupted in snorting disbelief. 'Drink beer and play pool!' she shrieked. 'A man?!' Sonja, revealing a bit of edge, wondered about the possibility of a husband who didn't cheat. She waggled her lifted eyes at the two ladies, hoping they'd cough up some good cuckold stories. Kelly went mum, LuAnn coughed into the fur friends on her shoulders. Sonja shrugged agreeably and searched the restaurant for a Mr. Tuesday while reconsidering her outfit. 'What kind of guys can you pick up with a hunting scarf?' she moaned. She's nuts. I like her.
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