She unclosed her eyes gracefully at the first ring of the alarm clock, because she never overslept. She slipped out of bed in her lacy peignoir (not the slutty kind).
She carefully selected a skirt suit that was the right length for job interviews but also the right length for men to notice what great legs she had. With it, she wore heels (not the slutty kind) and then calculated and applied the exact correct amount of makeup that would make men think she wasn’t wearing any makeup.
Her whole wardrobe was composed of shades of beige, nude and taupe, just like all the makeup she owned. She didn’t own anything in red. Red was the devil’s color.
Her coworker came by and said “Good job, Grace!”
Her name was always Grace, or it was Bree, or it was Jacqueline, or it was Rita or it was Eleanore. Whatever it was, it was classy as could be. Her last name was also classy, and began with ‘van de’.
They didn’t know what it was, but there was something classy about the way she handled mergers and acquisitions. When she shook the other parties’ hands, they all noticed it. “That sure is one classy dame,” said the old Business Person, watching her admiringly as she exited the business room to the sound of gentle piano music that came from nowhere. Everyone else sighed in agreement.
They were all in love with her, but they would never dare to bring it up. She was too classy for that, unlike the slutty new temp who wear skirts so tight you could see the curve of her ass when she bent over the copier. The classy woman’s ass was just as good or better, but you had to guess what it looked like. This was hotter, somehow. Nobody knew why, but everyone agreed that it was.
At the end of the work day, she kicked off her work heels gracefully and put on her play heels. She let her hair down from its elegant bun so it cascaded around her shoulders (not in a slutty wild way).
She went to the bar. You could tell it was a classy bar because everyone inside was old as hell.
Her friend was crying at the bar, sloppily. You could tell her friend was sloppy because her lipstick was smeared on her glass and one bra strap was visible.
“I’m so upset,” sobbed her friend. “He walked out on me after four years. Without a word. Just a text message saying “Bye forever.'”
“Shh,” she told her friend. “You can’t talk about these things. You have to be classy about it. Also I can see your bra strap.” But her friend didn’t even care.
The bartender set down five shots for her friend. “Are you sure you want all five?” he said hesitantly.
“I’m trying to tell her to keep it classy,” the classy woman said. The bartender looked at her admiringly. “What would you like?”
“A glass of white wine,” she said. “Make it the best white wine you have.” The bartender gasped in a good way at her order. No-one had ever ordered that type of white wine before. Everyone in the bar fell in love with her immediately.
“Are you sure about this?” said her friend. “That wine is like $400 and doesn’t even taste that good.” Everyone gasped in a bad way because her friend had been vulgar enough to bring up money.
“This is a nice place,” said the bartender. “You must be lost. Please leave.” He ushered the woman with the visible bra strap to the door.
Later at home, she relaxed in the neat comfort of her apartment, which was filled with tasteful art pieces that were not done in the slutty modern style. She was reading a Victorian novel, but still sat up perfectly straight even when she was alone. She had perfect posture.
The doorbell rang. It was Richard the IIIrd. He walked handsomely into the apartment and took her shoulders in a commanding but also refined way.
“I want to kiss you,” he said, and then he kissed her (not the slutty type of kiss). This was how all their kisses started because she was too classy to make the first move. He led her to the bedroom. Refined piano music started playing out of nowhere.
During the sex, she kept her eyes closed because she was too classy to open them. After he was done, she put on her reading glasses & read a copy of Homes & Gardens until she fell asleep at a reasonable hour.