The Fifty-Seven Firestorm

They met back in school when perms were in style.. Now they’re fifty-seven and wickedly wild. A sisterhood forged in detention and pranks.. Now fueled by cocktails and cackles and tanks. Derani and Adrianne? Soulmates for sure.. Joined at the hip and bonded by lore. They gossip, they giggle, they drink in sync.. And dare you to challenge their best-friend link. Then there’s Jacqui.. a goddess of stage.. She channels Cher’s drama, Eurythmics rage. She belts out *"Believe"* with a wig and a strut.. Mic in one hand, the other on her butt. Michelle may be small, but don't take her lightly.. Her shoulders are boulders, her grip is unsightly. She once arm-wrestled a guy twice her size.. He cried, she flexed, and winked both her eyes. Tracey’s just ditched a man full of crap.. She’s sipping red wine and plotting a slap. She’s single, she’s spicy, she’s dancing on chairs.. Shouting, “Freedom looks *hot* — and I’ve got new wares!” And dear Marlene, the host with the most.. Baby sis of Adrianne, proud to boast. But don’t cross her vibe or you’re bound to regret.. She’ll say “ off” before lighting a cigarette. They toast to the past, to the mayhem and men.. To surviving their youth.. and doing it again. No filters, no limits, no shame in their game.. These queens of the chaos will never be tame.