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A SLOT MACHINE ATE MY MIDLIFE CRISIS
by Irene Woodbury

 

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Quirky jobs, wacky friends, hot crushes, and an unraveling marriage are all part of this darkly funny novel describing 45 year-old newlywed Wendy Sinclair’s life in Las Vegas after she impulsively decides to stay following a bizarre girls’ weekend in 2005. 

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From A Slot Machine Ate My Midlife Crisis...

   Three times a day, saloon girls with fluffy hair and florid red cheeks perched atop them and belted out songs while flashing lace garters and more thigh than you’d see in a bucket of Kentucky Fried Chicken. Tacky, yes, but it captured the Old-West ebullience of Vegas perfectly. The crowds loved it!
   On an elevated stage at the center of the action was Paige, with the face of an angel, the bod of a vixen, in full Dolly regalia. Her apple-pie--la-mode shoulder-length blonde hair was a cascade of lush curls and waves, her pale skin luminous, her big blue eyes heavily mascara’d and generously coated with glittery blue shadow. She was poured into a short, lemon-meringue-pie-yellow dress with a full skirt, lacy elbow-length sleeves, and a tight, low-cut bodice embellished with a sparkly-silver butterfly.
   “Holy sh*t! Is that Paige?” Paula snorted, doing a double take.
   “No, it’s Dolly Parton,” I shot back.
   “She looks like Mothra with a boob job!”

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