Matinee! Say,
would you ever hesitate to choose between an all-day train and a
sleeper? It's the same idea. What a woman calls going to the theater
is something very different. It means taking a nap in the afternoon,
so her eyes will be bright at night, and then starting at about five
o'clock to dress, and lay her husband's clean things out on the bed.
She loves it. She even enjoys getting his bath towels ready, and
putting his shaving things where he can lay his hands on 'em, and
telling the girl to have dinner ready promptly at six-thirty. It means
getting out her good dress that hangs in the closet with a cretonne
bag covering it, and her black satin coat, and her hat with the
paradise aigrettes that she bought with what she saved out of the
housekeeping money. It means her best silk stockings, and her diamond
sunburst that he's going to have made over into a La Valliere just as
soon as business is better. She loves it all, and her cheeks get
pinker and pinker, so that she really doesn't need the little dash of
rouge that she puts on 'because everybody does it, don't you know?'
She gets ready, all but her dress, and then she puts on a kimono and
slips out to the kitchen to make the gravy for the chicken because the
girl never can get it as smooth as he likes it.
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