A Bespoke Pavilion

Riding back from that pebbled shore inside the market basket left my joints craving proper drawing-room warmth. Upon the mahogany desk, some philistine had left a vibrant paisley silk pocket square tangled across the upright dividers of a heavy brass letter rack. Such an exquisite weave deserves far better than holding unpaid gas bills. Bracing my blue heels against the polished wood, I gathered the slippery silk hem with both hands and hoisted it over the arched brass finials, smoothing the pleats until it formed a sumptuous draped pavilion. Tucking myself beneath the silk canopy in my velvet bolero, I finally have an evening boudoir befitting an icon of my stature.