An evening in Adams Morgan in downtown Georgetown

I like Betsy Fisher, I like Cusp, I like Anthropologie, I like Club Monaco, I like Barney's Co-op and I really like - okay, I love - Saks Fifth Avenue.

Don't be fooled, I can't afford the majority of the wares neatly folded and meticulously hung on these stores' shelves and cloth hangers, but nonetheless, these are the retail sanctuaries to which I most often flee to look at pretty things and to temporarily forget about my hectic, sleep-deprived schedule.

What draws me most to a shop, be it of a large department variety or a quaint, local boutique, is of course the clothing itself - as you well know, I tend to go for unique, simple, neutral, tailored, Katie-esque looks - but also the atmosphere, the quietude of the experience. You see, I'm a solo shopper, so even when I have a girlfriend or two in tow, I'm alone in that store, and I really require a certain level of privacy with that pair of calling-out-to-me high-waisted Katharine Hepburn trousers so that I can make the decision, free of pressure, free of false excitement, whether or not there exists a bond strong and special enough between the two of us for me to appropriate a portion of my tightly-budgeted analyst's salary for its acquisition.

Last night, as soon as I exited my lovely post-work drink at Hook* and saw the shockingly long Pucci-printed, flat suede-booted queue snaking around the corner of 33rd and M St., I knew I was in for the kind of shopping experience I not only dislike but physically can't stand for more than 20 minutes.

And in actuality, it was more like 17 minutes.

Now, I'm not saying the District Sample Sale** was poorly organized or poorly stocked with last season's ugly stepsister remnants - not at all, and judging from the gleeful looks on most shoppers' faces, my discomfort and anxiety with the fashion frenzy were not widely shared - but I will say this -- last night was my first and last foray into this sort of competitive, passive-aggressive-behavior heavy shopping experience.

Frankly, I love clothes too much to see them soiled with makeup stains and strewn over folding tables, hanging halfway out of plastic Rubbermaid bins and stretched to within a threadbare inch of their lives over a pair of you-knew-those-wouldn't-fit-in-there DDs. And because I honestly do believe in the notion of falling for that perfect dress*** or those perfect shoes, I want - just as I do with a lover - a beautiful memory and an awwww-inspiring story to go along with the moment at which we looked at each other, looked down, smiled and just knew we had to be together.

So just as I may skip out on the Adams Morgan nights with my girlfriends because I don't want to have to say to my parents, "Well, we met when he spilled his shot of Captain Morgan's down the front of my blouse," from now on, on DSS night, I'll be staying snug-as-bug put in my apartment noshing on baby carrots with my first love watching Carlito's Way on Starz.


*be sure to chat up bartender Duffy -- he's ador-uh-bull
**big snaps to BabsieD for her hard work in organizing the event and for her generous, fun-to-paw-through swag bag
***big snaps to K & L for having introduced me to my newest circus-necklined obsession