The Semi-Sophisticated Scribblings of

Did I telepathically summon a TV star to show up in an Atlanta ice cream shop?!

I'm in my early 40s, and it's taken until now for me to be okay with nothing being set in stone - or in my case, set in a chocolate frosty from Wendy's. In the mid-90's, there was a Wendy's next-door to my high school. My friends and I routinely went there for the suburban delicacy of dipping our fries into a frosty. I remember during one meeting of our semi-formed teenage minds, we discussed our futures. They were adamant I would be "the next Oprah Winfrey." And that was the