Daytime dramas, yes soap operas, are addictive but not because the plotlines are unimaginably complicated and absurd.  They are.  Where else could one be a first-hand observer of Abe Carter, the mayor of Salem (somewhere in the Midwest) suffering from severe amnesia for months.  How long would Nurse Whitley hold him hostage, pretending to be his wife?  Intrigue surrounds Victor Kiriokis, missing somewhere in the Greek Isles before his body is discovered by air traffic controllers following a plane crash, leaving his wife, Maggie, to be seduced by his best friend, Konstantin Meleounis.  But . . . proving to be no friend of Victor’s, Konstantin’s only motive is to gain control of Maggie’s massive fortune. Not only does the DuPree family learn that the beloved matriarch, Anita, has cancer, but they also discover that her daughter, Dani, and granddaughter, Naomi, both inherited the Bracha gene.  Their chances of developing cancer have just risen exponentially and they both need the emotional support of the family to help them cope.  However, Naomi has to keep her test results private, even from her husband, Jacob Hawthorne.  Of course Naomi must stay quiet.  Jacob, a police detective, has undertaken an undercover mission on a very dangerous case.  No distractions, even a serious medical situation involving his wife, can impede his work!  After all, he must prove himself to his hyper-critical police chief father in whose eyes Jacob is still a child and can do nothing right.  Erica Cane, Audra Charles, Sally Specter, Adam Newman, Kyle Abbot, John Black, EJ DiMera and numerous others have navigated their own tragedies for decades in long-running daytime television dramas.  They’ve endured kidnappings, imprisonments, betrayals, corporate espionage and sabotage, tawdry trysts and rendezvous and babies switched at birth but that’s all in a day’s work.  What is noticeable only to the most well-trained eye is hidden in the details.  All of these characters, despite their stations in Life, and no matter how dire the situation, are always dressed to the nines.  It’s also perpetually ‘five o’clock somewhere’ on the set since cocktails flow freely and easily in nearly every scene.  Storylines aside, loyal viewers are intoxicated by the fashion and the folly.  

Nicole Richardson, a newly divorced and highly respected psychiatrist in the community of Fairmont Crest, sheds her conservative persona and unleashes her alter-ego on all of the eligible or ineligible men (marital status is of no consequence in these shows) at Uptown, the local hot spot.  In she struts, Sex in a skin-tight, barely-there, flesh-colored, sequin-adorned, Bardot dress, bright crimson three-inch Jimmy Choos, rhinestone chandelier earrings, llama-length eyelash extensions and ruby red come-hither lipstick and slinks onto a barstool . . . a dirty martini in one hand and a sultry smile not-so-subtly inviting attention . . . and finishes her grand entrance.  Questions beg to be asked: what if one of her patients were to see her?  Or better yet: does she even have patients?  She’s seldom in her office, and when she IS there, she’s sharing cognac (and other things) with Dr. Carlton Fitzgerald!  And: Carlton never has patients either?  Is he really a doctor?

“Sheesh!” thinks the viewer, “Nicole is playing with fire!  Of course she’s still in love with Ted (her ex-husband whom she divorced upon discovering he had a secret love-child with a deranged mistress twenty years ago) and she’s got Dr. Carlton Fitzgerald on the line!  What is she doing tramping around Uptown?  But more importantly, where did she get that dress? I have to have it!”

The viewer picks up her phone and types in “worn by Nicole Richardson, Beyond the Gates, January 30” into the search bar.  Exact Match appears on the screen beneath a photo of sexy, not-so-sweet Nicole.  One simple point-click-add-to-cart-proceed-to-checkout later assures that the outfit will be hers within the next seven to ten business days!  Yes, it’s THAT simple! Forget the dirty martini.  The viewer can make her own . . . OR wait for the postal delivery and role play as Nicole at her own local nightclub!

One half hour later, on a different serial matinee,  Audra Charles, jobless and penniless for months, bent on enacting revenge on the entire Newman empire, meets her bestie, Sally Spector, at Society for breakfast.  Given the fact that Audra is unemployed, is unable to  pay rent at the Genoa City Athletic Club where she temporarily resides, buy gas for her car or food for her table, arrives at the restaurant clad in a gorgeous light blue, bell-sleeved, asymmetrical sweater paired with Navy blue wool, boot cut slacks and blue suede ankle boots.  Notwithstanding the problem du jour (hacking into the Newman Enterprises computer system and planting a bug that will destroy all of the files and keeping her criminal past in L.A. a secret from  . . . , well, from everyone in Genoa City), the viewer is caught off guard by Audra’s clothes  . . . and her mimosa . . . and the improbability of it all. 

“That is the most beautiful sweater!  I wonder how it would look on me?  And Elvis has NOTHING on those fabulous blue suede shoes!” 

Audra and Sally continue scheming about the Newmans’ demise, toasting their plan with refills on their mimosas.  

“O.K.,” the viewer continues to dream, “that sweater is a must-have!  

Another session of point-and-click later and the sweater is on its way.  

Meanwhile, back at the Abbot mansion, Jack, Kyle and Diane share cocktails and conversation about their OWN plan to bring the Newmans down . . . And it’s not even noon!  Why are they drinking so early in the day?  Are ALL problems solved over cocktails?

Not to be out-schemed by the Abbots, across town at the Newman estate, Victor, Nikki, Adam, Chelsea and Victoria strategize against the Abbotts and Audra, each with their own glasses filled with something spirited!  (Foreshadowing of more problems being solved!)  Of course, Nikki, Chelsea and Victoria flaunt creations straight from Paris Fashion Week, but as gorgeous and enviable as they all are, the viewer will have to wait to order anything more . . . At least until the first two packages have arrived . . . (unless she ponders the situation over cocktails with a friend?)

So, As the World Turns in these complicated Days of Our Lives Beyond the Gates, tragedies and spectacles continue with All My Children, all of them Bold and Beautiful, sometimes checking into General Hospital, but what always drives the viewership is its fascination with fashion and folly.  

Thinking back about the Christmas holidays, one day stands out in particular and what a day it was!  After I walked the dog and completed my pilates class, I set out to the UPS Store to return a set of golf clubs I’d ordered by mistake.  Of course there was a line out the door; and of course SOME people were testy . . . especially one lady . . . most likely in her early to mid-thirties.  She was surly, impatient, intolerant and VERY demanding.  

“I’m NEXT!” she barked to an unsuspecting milktoast man who handed his return to the clerk, needing NOTHING other than to drop off his fully-packaged and labeled box.  

“He’s just making a drop-off,” explained the harried worker.  Her demeanor defied her outfit. Her festive ensemble screamed the opposite: a green, white and red herringbone miniskirt with glittered threads woven throughout, cute Calvin Klein black ankle booties, white laced anklet socks peeking out, a crisp long sleeved button down blouse and an ELF HAT! Talk about a contradiction . . She was Irony personified!  I’d sure hate to be at whatever Christmas party she was headed to! 

My return fully processed and receipt in my hand, I decided to stop in at CVS to get a flu shot.  While standing in line at the vaccine check-in, I made an appointment on the CVS app for myself at 11:15 a.m., and just like clock-work, my turn at the desk happened at precisely 11:15 a.m.  I was instructed to go wait in Aisle 24 until my name was called.  A few minutes later, “Mary West” was invited to sit in the vaccine chair.  

“Hey!” I said to the pharmacist, “where’s the privacy screen?  I’m going to have to take my blouse halfway off and I’d rather not do it in front of the entire store!”  

“Oh THAT,” the pharmacist sheepishly began, “a homeless guy snuck in here and used the privacy area as a make-shift apartment bathroom and there was a lot of biohazardous material left behind so Corporate instructed us to remove the privacy screen.”  (As if that was o.k. and par for the course!)  

“WHAT?” I gasped, “You’ve GOT to be kidding me!  A HOMELESS guy violates your store and Corporate accommodates it . . . making it so law-abiding, rational, sober, tax-paying CUSTOMERS have to disrobe in front of God and everybody just to maintain their health?  I’ll tell you what . . . I HATE coming into this store!  It’s a rat hole!  The Gold Line metro station is RIGHT OUTSIDE YOUR FRONT DOOR and there are ALWAYS vagrants and addicts lurking around!  Beef up your security and KEEP YOUR PATRONS SAFE!  What a joke!” 

The pharmacist agreed but said HE couldn’t do anything about it and that “Corporate” made all the decisions.  So . . . anger getting the best of me, I yanked my blouse ENTIRELY off over my head and told the pharmacist to select which arm he wanted to prick.  

“Watch,” I said, “I’ll probably be arrested for indecent exposure!  And, by the way, if I AM, you can bet that Corporate will be paying my legal bills!” 

After that total humiliation, I stopped in at PetCo to Christmas shop for all the dogs in the family.  There was a couple roaming the aisles with their two Jack Russell mixes.  Honestly, those dogs looked (and acted) like junkyard dogs . . . Aggressive, ill-behaved and ready to tear open and shred anything they encountered, including me! Oh . . . And the owners . . . Straight out of the bar scene in Star Wars!  The guy was rough. . . Tatted to the max . . . A box of cigarettes rolled into the sleeve of his too-tight T-shirt, short, slicked-back hair (kind of like The Fonz only DIRTY).  His girlfriend’s yoga pants must have been painted on and the sports bra she wore HAD to belong to her MUCH  younger sister (or former cell mate at the women’s prison!)  There was NOTHING left to the imagination.  NOTHING.  Scary Guy initiated a conversation with me (who was looking for non-squeaking toys for my very civilized, clean, groomed, powdered and pampered, NON-junkyard dogs).  

“Hey, Lady,” he started, sounding VERY much like an uneducated Rocky Balboa, “if you lookin’ for some bitchin’ toys, these here puzzles gonna be it!  Look (he said as the male junk terrier destroyed a box on the lowest shelf) . . . this little shit LOVES ‘em!”  

“Ya,” I replied with the full intention of keeping the conversation short, “I can see that!”  I grabbed an unchewed puzzle box from the shelf so Scary Guy would think I took his advice, but I restocked it on the shelf as soon as he and the girlfriend headed for the cashier.  After I’d made my selections, I made a bee line straight home.  I’d had enough “close encounters” for the day.