It's Halloween weekend, which means many of you have the face paint primed and the cape washed and pressed for the dressed up festivities. Perhaps you've been plotting tonight's ensemble for weeks. Your costume this year might finally be the costume to put all others to shame.

I've got my costume ready, too. I'm sticking with the Orbit Gum chick ("Dirty mouth? Clean it up.") for the second time because I was too lazy to think up a new idea and I like being able to talk in a fake accent.

It isn't the most enthusiastic approach to Halloween, I know, but I've already had my dress-up entertainment for the week.

Two days ago a friend of mine called me up with some last-minute tickets to last night's 'Reception with Massachusetts Governor Deval Patrick benefiting The Obama Victory Fund.'

Sounds swanky, doesn't it? Tickets to the event ranged from $500-$5,000. Not exactly the cover charge I'm used to. This was a whole different breed of event.

"What do you wear to something like this, anyway?" I asked.

"I'd go with conservative cocktail. Definitely heels," friend said.

Ah. OK.

Wait. I don't have anything like that. Sure, they say every woman should have a simple black cocktail dress in her closet for just such a last-minute occasion. But I never followed that advice. (It sounded like useless advice no one follows, like how you should watch the road while driving or pay for your meals at restaurants.)

"I wouldn't worry too much about it," my friend said. "But you don't have an LBD? For shame!"

According to her, the little black dress is to 30 what the cosmo was to 21. But I never drank cosmos either. My maturation has averted such stepping stones.

I guess it's a good thing I'm getting older and learning all this junk. So off to the store I went.

I eventually found a conservative dress.

I dusted off my black heels (that haven't seen sunlight since I first bought them two, maybe three years ago) and made myself purty.

I swapped my over-the-shoulder ragged bag for a decent purse.

I wore pantyhose.

And to anyone who wasn't privy to the rampant immaturity in my head, I looked all grown up! Though I still drank my beer out of the bottle (sorry, mom. Some habits you just can't shake).

My learnings:

Thigh-high nylons are a gravity-defying wonder.

High heels are a form of self abuse.