A few weeks ago, I was at a coffee shop in Philadelphia, when I happened to come across THE MOST GLAMOROUS LADY EVER (TM). There she is, above. Can you see her cigarette holder? The bejeweled barrette on the back of her bouffant? The devil-may-care stance?
There was so much glamour that my camera could not handle taking a head-on full photo of her. (Okay, the reality is that I was pretty sure she would tell me to go to hell in the most eloquent and haughty way, the likes of which haven't been seen since Joan Crawford's day.) But can I describe her outfit? Okay. It was a full-length black gown with a long cashmere shawl/cardigan/cape. Three layers of necklaces, two cocktail rings and jawbreaker-sized diamond earrings.
And the biggest eyeglasses ever. Like, Carrie Donovan huge. You don't remember her? You're kidding me...
There. Now imagine that, and you can see why I just *had* to get some sort of photo. I mean, it was all I could do not to ask her to adopt me. She just seemed like she had all sorts of stories, involving bridge games with Truman Capote, Slim Keith and the chimp who played Cheetah in the old Tarzan movies. While Burt Bacharach played in the background. She'd swear alot, drink Rob Roys and own lots of caftans and/or palazzo pants. That's just all in a days' work for THE MOST GLAMOROUS WOMAN IN THE WORLD (TM).
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