I mind the time when a lady would put her hair up in curlers the night before, spend two hours on make-up, don a dress of the latest Paris fashion, set off the elegant beauty of her swan-like neck with a necklace of pearls, place the latest little pillbox hat on her head at just the proper angle, pull on a pair of elbow-length white gloves, slip her nyloned feet into high-heeled shoes, give herself a once-over in the mirror for the twentieth time - pushing a stray curl back into place - take her shiny leather handbag in hand, look in the mirror again - and then, if she was satisfied with what she saw, and only then, did she consider herself ready to for an afternoon of mud-wrestling!