My great-grandma Hazel was always — I repeat, ALWAYS — dressed to the nines.
Her handbags rotated along with the shoes on her feet. Her hair was always perfectly coiffed, even if it was 6 a.m. and the only sign of movement was the bacon crackling in the cast-iron skillet.
At her old make-up vanity, she’d apply a little color to enhance her porcelain skin. Her wardrobe was impeccable. She had suits and blouses in every color of the rainbow. She had enough accessories — belts, scarves and costume jewelry — to make Carrie Bradshaw swoon.