by Karen Gillespie | Southern Sensibility
ON A SCALE THAT MEASURES CATASTROPHES, losing a lover is a 9.5; losing a stylist is 10 million to the infinite power. My stylist Chelsea and I had been together for more than two decades and I imagined we’d always be together, well into my blue rinse days. My will...
by Karen Gillespie | Southern Sensibility
THEY SAY APRIL is the cruelest month, but everyone knows it’s January. After weeks of take-no-prisoners debauchery, we’re expected to drag our carbohydrate-logged bodies off the comfort of the sofa and fling them at a tread mill, elliptical or similar diabolical...
by Karen Gillespie | Southern Sensibility
I’M ABOUT TO MAKE CONFESSION that will likely land my name on some top-secret, un-American list, but I refuse to make turkey for Thanksgiving dinner ever again. For years I’ve attempted to achieve the holy grail of the Thanksgiving meal, i.e. a juicy turkey,...
by Karen Gillespie | Southern Sensibility
Dear Halloween Candy, You are my weakness and nemesis. My knees turn to rubber when confronted with a piece of candy corn. I swoon at the sight of orange and black gummy bats. Shamelessly you prey on my sense of nostalgia. You conjure up crisp nights when I’d roam...
by Karen Gillespie | Southern Sensibility
I was talking to a friend the other day and I mentioned my recent meal at a meat-and-three. Being a transplanted Yankee she never had the exquisite privilege of eating at one and I had to explain what it was. (I was patient with her, but frankly if you’re going to...
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