Hoochie in a Catsuit — Lost in Chicago
Who watches over hoochies, kids, and fools?
“You can’t go to Chicago by yourself!” the 55+-year-old firefighter command officer I had dated exactly once informed 20–23-year-old me about the cancellation of our proposed trip to the Chicago Summer TasteFest. It sparked something in my feminist spirit,” Watch me!”
I had longed to embrace travel and, except for my fear of being stranded, alone with no money and no dependable family or friends to call upon, Lieutenant Flameout’s invitation had seemed the perfect start. As a self-described independent woman, I couldn’t let this man dictate my moves! Reviewing my mental checklist: bank account flush, credit card clear, new AAA Club membership, more dependable, new-looking car; why not go on an adventure?! Tires checked TripTik secured, new, much more flamboyant outfits packed, I split from suburban Detroit to Chi-town Friday after work.
My consigliere mother, who lived out of state, was residing with one of her clients and was unreachable before I left. As this happened in that prehistoric era before ubiquitous cell phones, I left an outgoing message on my answering machine advising callers to leave their numbers. Ma would have had a million questions, including exact details about the Lieutenant and my plans but she wouldn’t have forbidden me to go; I…
