THE PARTY

       

         

        Miss Riley was in a feisty mood, meaning, "Tonight!…the GALA?...will be what-it-is!  It’s simply, that simple! Simply Divine! "

But first she has all manner of things to tend to, not the least of which was ‘clean-out that old crows nest’…'plump the pucker on the old kisser’…’a cucumber peel should seal the deal’, and then 'take this old mane, and make something Majestic!’.

The morning was half gone, she best get started. 

Oh. Don’t mind the door slam. The Miss is usually under unusual stress while under construction.

I suppose it’s left up to me, to warn you, that Miss Riley can fly off the handle in a cat-quick manner. I mean, a mean, claws out, alley cat…if things don’t go exactly right. Be fare warned, the rest of the way is fairly messy...and private. 

Things applied, pushed, pulled, minimized and amplified. It won’t be pretty, and it is not your business, so best, leave it there, behind closed doors.

Of course, through the course of the day, she managed to be a real trooper (temper-tantrums aside), and she relinquished her body to tortuous demands of Fashion. 

The hours ticked by, both painfully slow, yet, panic-inducingly frantic. Could the Night really be  approaching so quickly?

The key was to pace one’s self. All is a work-in-progress until the work is done. But the patience it takes…the craft…

Worth it, when her moment comes, and she enters the room, the Orchestration playing in her mind, she makes her entrance, dripping with Class and Elegance.

But it was not to be. 

On her way out the door, she grabbed the invite, and with trembling hands, read that the party is tomorrow night…

Shall I close the door behind me as I leave, Miss Riley?

 V