In preparation for my friend Adeline Moritz’s debutante party in Savannah this weekend.

All ladies know primping for any remotely formal event begins, at the very least, forty-eight hours in advance.

Try saying that with a straight face.

Despite the cynicism, I’m embarking on a grooming odyssey of sorts.

Seven o’clock Friday night will find me adequately tweezed, shaved, moisturized, spritzed, glossed, shined, scrubbed, polished and otherwise spruced up fantastically.

I will look, at best, marginally different than I do on the average Saturday morning. But I will, however, feel famished, exhausted and thus ultimately satisfied with my image.

It’s really exactly like sleeping in an hour late on a manic Monday morning, but skipping breakfast to shower. Honestly. Heh. What a morbid realization.

Ah well, it’s for my health. I will certainly benefit from a few days without burgers, fries, pizza and half-and-half in my coffee (these, by the way, comprise the building blocks of my diet). I’m fairly certain I’ve layered fresh nail polish over the old chippy stuff for at least three months. My fingernails might benefit from the oxygen exposure.