We are seated in the middle of the restaurant, and I nod. You momentarily blanche, but quickly recover. Sliding your hands under the tabletop, you grasp the hem of your lace covering from under your dress. Lifting just enough, you lower them over your cheeks and down your legs.

Once over your knees, you release them and let them fall. After lifting your feet out individually, you reach down with your right hand and retrieve the lacy material.

“Hand them to me, arm outstretched, with the delicate red lace draped off your fingers.”

“As you request,” you say.