I had managed to get through Ash Wednesday with my vow of abstinence intact. The ball gowns were divided into those destined for the cleaners and those to be left at the Junior League Thrift Shop for recycling by some future patronesses of the Queens of the Nile or the Maids of Ophelia, better known as MOO. The dozen or so hat boxes were returned to the top shelf of the closet, the champagne spattered, linen pumps of just the exact shade of not-quite-lime green were relegated to the new puppy as a chew toy, and the children, the little dears, were off to St. Olaf’s for the resumption of classes. I, thank Gawd, was happy to return to my normal routine when I opened the Titusville Tattler to the front page of Section D... read more