Stolen, not stirred

Totally borrowed from BS ... now at Wordpress!

• The perfect outfit: Jeans, a sexy top, a soft sweater-wrap, heels, and the perfect bag.
  
• The perfect meal: Do the blue cheese-stuffed olives in my martini count? Why can't I have one for each meal? Because breakfast is definitely juice, a good americano and the definitive croissant, but that doesn't help me at 8:30 pm. And what about dim sum?
  
• The perfect hangover cure: Two Advil, large glass ice water, previously noted good americano, freshly squeezed juice (preferably made by someone else, in a place where you don't have to hear the juicer), previously noted perfect croissant, but this time with scrambled eggs, cheese and Sriracha.
• The perfect road trip: Convertible, big straw hat, heading out of the city to the beach, tunes on, and the smell of suncreen with a hint of coconut in the air.
  
• The perfect facial feature: What is it with the perfect? I'm also going to go with eyes, but, like BS, yes, ask me about my favorite body part instead and I'll say collar bones. Mine, that is.
• The perfect drink: An actually dirty dry Sapphire martini, blue cheese-stuffed olives, up (because people still ask). Also, a glass of Lillet blanc, one ice cube.
  
• The perfect song: Is it bad if I say Freedom 90? This is too dependent on everything else in the moment.
  
• The perfect sign of affection: Ummm, that depends. A lot.
  
• The perfect afternoon: Sidewalk cafe, previously noted glass of Lillet, people watching from behind sunglasses with a girlfriend. Also, unlimited champagne brunch for 4-6 friends.
  
• The perfect vacation: Waking up on clean white sheets in a puddle of sunshine, excessive relaxation, at least one cultural opportunities, available and cheap fresh local food, (and yes, hotel sex).
• The perfect invention: I mean, this week, Skype is looking good. But definitely the corkscrew.
  
• The perfect type of wedding: Open air, but under a roof that isn't a tent, fewer than 75 people, healthy combination of laughter and tears, beautiful flowers, endless glasses of champagne and a lighter than air white cake.
  
• The perfect album: This category would just date me beyond all recognition.
  
• The perfect accent: One feels fairly obliged to say Scottish at this point, but we've always been a fan of the Brits in general.
  
• The perfect date: Bespoke cocktails, delicious, but not heavy, dinner, and something out of the ordinary. Surprise me, in a good way.
  
• The perfect weather: Eighty degrees, no humidity, light breeze, occasional fluffy white clouds.
  
• The perfect party: Ten to twelve people, awards show, champagne cocktail fountain.
  
• The perfect sport: I mean, rugby, obviously. Quite.
  
• The perfect thing to say: I mean, "I love you," obviously. Unless it's not true. How about "Thank you."
  
• The perfect day of the week: I want to say Sunday, but there is that feeling of impending doom that kicks in around 4:30 ... unless you're still tipsy from brunch, in which case you're probably at home, napping in the sun puddle. How about Sunday of a three day weekend?