Getting gussied up

I have a ritual that I go through when I get gussied up for a night on the town. I light my candles in my boudoir (I have my very own room off from my bedroom dedicated to my antique art deco vanity, my vintage hat collection, my rhinestone collection and my armoire filled with fabulousness). My beloved husband pours me a glass of champagne, always in a coupe, never a flute. I play a little Artie Shaw or Ella Fitzgerald to get me into the bombshell mood. I prance, I contemplate, and I sashay. When the ritual is almost complete, which can take anywhere from two to three hours, I saunter out to the living room to model the results to my beloved. The reaction I usually get is that of the wolf from the old cartoons; his eyes pop out and his jaw drops to the floor. It’s been like this for over six years. I do believe I am doing something right. {wink}