lionel richie: cooking to lovingly tender 80′s schmaltz

So I admit it.  I am a child of the 80s.  It’s all crusted in my memory, a memory that forgets the plot of a movie I saw last week and a promise I “supposidely” made to my daughter ten minutes ago, but the 80s…ahhh the 80s…it’s all there.

Lionel Richie clung to me as cooly as my coveted “Members Only” jacket (grey, of course, because grey was the only cool color).  I crooned and cried to his every sappy word, and listening to him today still brings a dark heartache set on my Mark Decasola’s feathered blond hair I never got to caress. 

So, to not cook to some Lionel would seem unforgiveable.  I’m not embarrassed.  I am a confident woman who is almost forty.  Damn it, say you say me, say it together, naturally.