Date Preparations or "This? Oh, it is just some old thing I threw on."

I remember a time when getting ready for a nice night out meant merely checking one's attire and cleaning your teeth. As I get older, it seems to take a lot more effort. Not because of the ravages of age catching up with me, but more that I have differing expectations of what a date might eventually turn into.

So, I had a date on Sunday night, and spent part of the day firstly trying to recreate the hair-do that my hairdresser had so recently perfected the day before. Then I had to inspect my finger nails, finding them somewhat less than glamorous talons, I opted to merely "neaten" them up. It then became apparent that my toenails were in need of some attention. Upon inspecting my feet, I decided that a whole mini-pedicure was in order, which then highlighted the fact that a razor had not been near my legs in some weeks. Finally, I thought that should the evening take a turn towards bedtime shenanigans, I best look into some pubic topiary.

After a good deal of time, I was coiffed, polished, shaved, waxed, blow-dried, made-up and finally able to contemplate something to wear. Actual clothing by this time came as almost an anti-climax to my meticulous preparations. Especially, when "he" sent an SMS through a couple of hours before the date, saying "Don't gussy up too much, I am wearing jeans."

Nevertheless, I arrived at his place feeling suitably glam, to find that the lighting in the lift to his floor was the kind that one finds in establishments where you usually buy swimming costumes. By which I mean, absolutely hideous and meant to highlight every flaw in your visage. The best solution I found was to look away and stare dumbly at the numbers as I passed each floor. Thankfully, the journey in the lift was not particularly long - those numbers can only keep me amused for so long.

And how was the date? Divine. But alas, most of my preparations were not required. Fingers crossed for date number two!