Before we start, let’s take a trip down memory lane together:
It was my parents’ annual Christmas party. I was five. With guests milling about downstairs around pigs-in-a-blanket party trays and flutes of
semi-flat champagne, I was upstairs in my room trying on some little black dress. Properly adorned with my Pocahontas-themed body paint and red cowboy boots, I made like Fred Astaire down the winding staircase with magic wand in hand. Mr. What's-His-Name-Again bent down low – as adults do when they speak to children – and said, “It’s nice to meet you.” My response? “You need a tic-tac.”