Good Lord...you never know when you are going to walk down Lincoln Rd. and run into a pack of Elvis impersonators. It's a jungle out there. Sadly, I did not bring my camera out on our trip on the town tonight; sometimes I just don't want to lug it around, but regret it immensely later. Henrietta's dress was the hit of the evening. Her personal shopper at Neimans had called to notify her of a very special cocktail dress that had come in. It was a velvet, spaghetti strapped bodice with a silver and black skirt with black ostrich feathers as trim; Mamie had expressed concern that it sounded a bit much for the dead of summer, but somehow it worked, and the town paid homage to The Queen. Of deeper concern is the fact that I arrived home at 3 PM relatively sober; that hasn't happened in a long time. I wonder what it means.