It’s 6:30am and I’m dressed for a cocktail party. A little lace dress, fancy shoes, wrapped in fur, with a smidge too much perfume. You walk out the door on a Tuesday morning like that right? Welcome to my world. The doormen must think I’m crazy, and my husband can confirm that. I get uncomfortable stares from little old ladies riding the elevator, as it looks like I’ve just completed the walk of shame with my makeup somehow still intact.
