Has to be perfect, as perfect as it can be. Long, long moments in front of the mirror, making sure the makeup is exactly right. Breathing shallowly as you slide the lipstick on, sweet red cheapening your values and increasing your price.
You stare into the glass before you; your reflection whispers, "Fuck me."
You stand, your dress riding up a little; readjust it self-consciously.
Turn around, looking up with wide eyes and parted lips.
Best I could do, love, I'm sorry. ~smile~ Not too inspired in Latin this morning...