Sometimes I like to feel special and fancy.
Maybe I’ll spritz on a little perfume on before I drop off my dry cleaning and begrudgingly head off to spin class. Perhaps I’ll set the table with all the bells and whistles of cloth napkins and proper place settings, even if my dinner date has four legs and a curly tail. Or I might just take the tags off that new silk top and slip on my too-tall black pumps, for no one other than myself.
All of which is reasonable, right?