Sometimes you just want to wear a pretty dress, even if you are going to the kind of club where people don’t wear dresses. You in a dress, among all the jeans and t-shirts, and one goth-girl with Wolverine claws (yes, really!), and you don’t care because even after all these years, you still blush every time your husband says that you are beautiful. Hell, maybe you even believe him. The band is decent, the music so loud you can feel it in your bones. The Cosmopolitans are two dollars until eleven, which means you drink too many of them, but that’s okay because for five hours you get to be a woman again, on a date with a charming man, wearing a dress and high heels and fantastic cleavage, and not carrying a diaper bag.