Somewhere between dowdy, gray-haired old woman in a flowing and overly ornate moomoo in a questionable shade of cerulean or puce
a vampy, slit-up-to-here and plunge-down-to-there, attention-stealing, arrested-development, still-trying-to-look-as-young-as-my-daughter-the-BRIDE
there has to be the perfect look, right?
God, save the Queen. And don’t make me have to shop too much.