A Portrait of Suburbia

Deb has a big gaping hole in her face that is only skilled in the arts of gossip and curse words. She spends her free time heading a one-woman show - the unofficial neighborhood watch. This act concerns pressing matters such as dilapidated trucks loitering in driveways, mailbox casualties of late-night drunk driving, and the new neighbor's casual disinterest in his son's sexual promiscuity.

"I never knew such terrible people would think to live here," Deb groans, her voice an echoing siren for the Society of Soccer Moms currently basking in soap operas, John Mayer, and the four-o-clock sun.

"Not only that, but Caroline's mother is off her medication and yelling at children again," chimes Kimberly, sipping a margarita and adjusting her sun glasses. "I don't feel safe when Danny wants to go over there. Who knows what sick people are capable of when they don't take their pills?" Meanwhile, Danny rides his bike, screaming through the streets and dodging cars with other children. Her oldest raids the liquor cabinet, preferring vodka straight out of the bottle to wash down her mother's Xanax.

"You know what's worse? Bill is dumping his sticks in the cul-de-sac again." The collective middle-class ego is now thoroughly bruised, and the women sigh in perfect unison.