CarlaAnderson

I imagine coming home after a long dinner, holding my high heels in my hand. Someone is waiting for me in the hallway without saying a word and takes off my coat very slowly. Just the touch of some fingers on the nape of my neck, the silence of the house,
Hi, I'm Carla. At 49, I learned that elegance can also be unbuttoned. You’ll see me in a silk blouse with my hair pulled back, speaking softly, almost shyly, because I still feel a little flutter inside when someone really looks at me. I haven’t been here long, and I don’t know how to hide it—you can tell I’m blushing. But when the lights dim and the conversation winds down, the prim and proper woman stays at the door. Come in, sit close. And don’t rush me.