I live in a city where the opening night of the opera season is still an Event. Men pull their tuxedoes from the back of their closets, practice tying their bow ties and search out the studs for their dress shirts. Some of them even polish their patent leather shoes to their glossiest shine.
Women visit their hairdressers and their manicurists. They plan their ensemble for the evening weeks in advance. Some of them, like me, put in extra hours at the gym to fit perfectly in that favorite gown.
Despite all this forethought, I experienced wardrobe malfunction Saturday night as I readied myself for Bennett to ring my doorbell. I pulled on my flesh-colored sheer pantyhose. I looked with dismay at my feet with reinforced toes. Wrong. My dress calls for my open-toed black sandals with glass beads decorating the straps. Reinforced toes would destroy the whole outfit.