For my 10-year high school reunion, I made no small effort to find the perfect dress to wear, and yet none looked as fantastic as the one worn by the woman sitting next to me for my early morning flight home. It was 7 a.m.; I was lucky to have remembered lip balm (forget about makeup), and yet there she was, in a fabulous leopard-print dress with a maroon empire-waist sash, perfect makeup, high heels. She seemed a little confused getting into her seat, and I politely waved my still-recovering finger when she helplessly asked me to put her bag overhead. It was as if she was from another era. I wondered why she was flying to Florida dressed like that — was she a call girl? Meeting her boyfriend? I found my ride home before I could figure it out.