So there she was, completely ready 15 minutes before the time Bill should be there to pick her up – except for the shoes, because she definitly didn’t need Mrs. Watson, from the apartment below, to bother her that night over high heels stomping over her head.
She couldn’t avoid looking at the clock every 20 seconds, when she mentally covered her checklist over again:
Cute dress: check.
Shoes ready to go: check.
Purse with lipstick (check), wallet (check), cell phone (check), keys (check).
When she was checking the list again for the hundreth fourtieth seventh time, she heard the buzz and ran to answer it.
“Jane, hi! Are you ready?”
His voice sounded like chocolate after a long diet.
“Sure, would you like to come up first?”
“I’d love to, but… Maybe on our way back?”
She didn’t know if there was hope or certainty in his sentence, so she decided to go along.
“Ok, then. I’ll be there in a minute!”
Then she ran to the full body mirror in the closet again, decided that the big bracelet was a no-go, got another one, more delicate, in silver, which matched her necklace, touched the earrings for no reason, and ran to the door. That was when she realized she left the purse in the closet, ran back there, got the purse, looked herself again in the mirror, touched the earrings again, then went straight to the door, got the shoes and put them when was waiting for the elevator.
“Oh God, please make this a good night!”, she thought while the doors closed and the elevator took her to the ground floor.