Remember in Chasing Amy how she was all busy being this sexual rebel, making out with girls in public (::yawn::), and then she had this shocking realization that what she really wanted to do was hunker down and pick the nits out of The Uncool Affleck's pubes for awhile? That's exactly how I feel about my new Burberry Pants. I spent all my shopping time from age 17 onward scouring thrift stores for new ways to dress like a lefty punk-rock maybe-dyke, and I ended up being the worst sort of snob who labeled anyone who didn't find their clothes in a Dumpster as a capitalist monkey Gap clone tool. And then one day I zipped up a $350 (on sale for $99) pair of well-fitting capris made out of the lining of Queen Elizabeth's raincoat and let Jack take me out for champagne and an expensive, crap meal at a restaurant with a 26 Zagat rating (soon to be 24 as soon as I get my survey form filled out and mailed), and there was no turning back. I had turned into a Gal and I didn't care who knew it.
The ghost of Ted Knight may need me to dig Mommy Blog ditches while others lunch with Binky Urban, but by God I'm going to look like Laura Petrie driving a backhoe and I don't care how Republican anyone thinks my gardening clogs look.