Darling, let us address a small but persistent tragedy of modern life: the graceless disembarkation. It’s not a scandal in the grand sense—no diamonds missing, no society marriages collapsing, but rather a quiet, recurring catastrophe played out in parking lots and curbside drop-offs everywhere. A flash here, a fluster there, and suddenly one’s “unmentionables” have made an unsolicited debut. Now, everyone, regardless of pedigree or postcode, ought to know that exiting a vehicle is not an athletic event. It is a performance. A brief one, yes, but no less deserving of rehearsal. You do not tumble out like loose change from a handbag. No, you compose yourself. You gather your things, your wits, and most importantly, your hemline. The trick, my dear, is choreography. First, swivel—gracefully, deliberately—so that both legs arrive together at the door, like well-behaved guests. Knees remain politely acquainted, never estranged. One hand may secure the skirt, the other the doorframe, and ...