Maggie figured that she'd better disabuse Pam of the notion of seeing her dressed up for clubbing every single time they met. Dressing up that much (or rather, dressing down that much) took entirely too much effort. So when Pam arrived at the door of her transplanted farmhouse, she hopped into the car in a more customary long colorful broomstick skirt, with her hair braided back. In the name of it being a date, she'd taken the time to wear a silky white top and sandals instead of her more customary boots and T-shirt or sweater. She'd even taken the time to put on a touch of make-up.
If Pam looked like a 1950s TV mom, then Maggie looked like a 1960s hippie at a semi-formal event.
"Oh, I don't know," she said, squeezing Pam's hand lightly. "Better safe than sorry. Besides, I can think of worse places for a date. The DMV. Shady back-alley science labs in the middle of a zombie outbreak. Taco Bell."