There are few issues I discover extra joyful than seeing an older lady dressed with style, totally made up, strolling on the road with an aura of pleasure and sovereignty. Whenever I see her, I wish to sit at a café and take heed to her—hopefully—clever, unapologetic, and barely scandalous observations about our world.
That lady is a testomony to at least one factor: magnificence by no means ceases to matter.
It issues to little ladies, and it issues to older girls.
It issues to me, and really, I feel I look higher than I ever did.
Do why?