I can barely contain my smile as the cab lurches uptown and we arrive at my apartment building. I just know that the second Jack picks me up in a cab he'll flash his baby blue eyes at me and say, «I am the luckiest man in the world. Never leave me, Brooke, for without you, I would surely die,» or something as equally heartfelt and romantic.

I rush up to my apartment, turn on my mp3 player and march into the bathroom. That's it-freshening up with a little «getting ready» music will put me in a good mood. The radio begins to blast an old Madonna song from the 80s and I dance around the bathroom, mood lightening. After all, when Madonna tells you to «get up and dance and sing,» you listen.

Throwing my head upside down, I give it a few good shakes. Flipping my hair back and standing upright, I look at my reflection in the mirror. Ever since I cut eight and a half inches off of my signature locks, I've also taken to wearing my hair with more of its natural curl in it. This past summer, I even let it dry naturally on days that I wasn't appearing in court (for those days, I resorted to my old tried-and-true classic bun), and with the Indian Summer we are having this September, I'm still doing the same.

I pull out the bathroom mirrors so that I can see myself in 3-D.I look okay , I tell myself.I look fine . After all, it's just a casual dinner at a local French restaurant with some friends. One of whom is my ex-boyfriend. Who just happens to be married to one of the biggest movie stars in the world-

What if the paparazzi is there? I wouldn't want to embarrass my friends and family by being photographed with frizzy hair. I really am a very considerate girl.

I must go get my hair blown out. Letting my hair dry naturally and frizz ever so slightly is okay for an evening at home with my fiancé who already gave me a ring and asked my father for permission and all that-he's already stuck with me-but it just won't cut it for dinner at Pastis with a real, live movie star.