I'm not saying that they had to pry me out the door with levers, but there was a large portion of reluctance on my part to leave that relative haven o safety. How could I do such a thing? The shoes felt funny, my legs were cold from being semi exposed to the "raw" air, the skirt and slip were downright distracting and limiting my step size to say nothing of the unaccustomed weight and size of those bumps on my chest. Only the remembrance of the image in the mirror coupled with the "good of the company" (or perhaps the problems I would have if I refused after having committed myself) caused me to finally release my death grip on the bedroom door and allow myself to be escorted (dragged?) out, out of reach of any of the objects that I could grab and hold on to. Well, you get the idea even if it wasn't that bad in reality.