Sometimes the stars *do* align

If there was one investment I was determined to make good on this year it was a new black Winter coat.

True, the knee-high almond-toed platform boots, the block-colored work sheath, the patent leather Mary Janes, the high-waisted tulip skirt, the replacement black leather daybag and the funnel-neck swing jacket were all on this same "what'll I do without it?" list, but you must understand, vital as each of these additions were to my poor, barren wardrobe, none of them, neither individually nor in sum, could compare to the need I felt for a suitable, can't-wait-to-put-it-on-every-morning black Winter coat.

Up until this past March (I've been relying on my olive trench since then), I had been wearing the same simple wool-cashmere blend overcoat for four straight years. My steady Betty has always hugged my body perfectly, a feat for which much props should be given considering the upsies and downsies in size my lady lumps have undergone between the point of sale and the present-day. Its collar pops up with a nice stiffness that blocks the wind and encases my neck on those frequent occasions when I absentmindedly leave my scarf at home. Its pockets so worn from the jagged edges of my house keys that unless I placed them just so in one of two back right-hand nooks, they - along with Monte's plastic sandwich bags and sometimes, my iPod or a handful of Ice Breakers Sours - would slip through and travel down, way down, only to be trapped inside the knee-length hem. In addition to lining deterioration, there was also the normal wear-and-tear dry cleaning chemicals and my own behaviors had taken on its of-mediocre-quality fabric and fasteners: some patches were blacker than others, some of the buttons were chipped or partially eroded, and though endearing and reminiscent of my Mother and Oma, the inside of the right hand sleeve was left threadbare from the constant friction against my seven gold bangles.

Until this Summer when I liberated from my coat closet the trusty piece of outerwear that had seen me through my second tour in China and my entire duration in this city and really took notice of its defeated state, the part of me that wanted to side with my Mother's "It'll last one more season" cautioning realized it could not, in fact, make it through one more Winter.

So from that early August day forward, the search for my new black topper has been in full-swing.

My requirements weren't outlandish. Sure, I wanted something a bit more stand-out than the traditional barn, pea and walking coats I see day in and day out at the foot of DC's cityscape, but I wasn't reaching for the Vidler & Nixon stars or anything. Preferably, I was hoping for a modern silhouette and something of the haircut-showcasing variety.

The first of my three disappointments was an impulsively purchased one. Essentially, I saw it, I liked it, and I ordered it. Because it is no longer available online, I'll send you here for a general idea of its aesthetic. I can't point to any one major flaw, but as we ladies are all too familiar with men, with coats there is the same kind of it-works-or-it-duhn't mentality. You know and you know right away. This selection, like so many men whose company I've endured in the past 11 months, was clearly not "the one."

The second disappointment, like the first, can be filed away in the "no shopping late at night while watching QVC's 'Gourmet Holiday' special" category. Against Monte's better judgment - a snubbing that would ultimately earn me three full days of silent treatment - I gave into the lure of 15%-off plus free shipping and "placed order" with this selection. There's no need to really get into the specifics of why the BR and I didn't work out, but let's just say that quality isn't BR's strong suit, especially with their larger ticket-priced items.

The third and final disappointment simply didn't fit, but unfortunately, it was not in an easily remedy-able should've-ordered-a-size-up/down kind of way. Too tight in the upper arms, too tight across the chest and far too loose in the waist, it took me half a twirl in the full-length before I was filling out the return form.

Jaded and sick of waiting in line at the Post Office on Saturday mornings, I just about gave up and gave into Monte's plan to permanently borrow without asking something from Hot Redhead's Lawyer's supersaturated outerwear collection.

But then something happened. Somethings, rather.

During my superficial attempt at cleaning before my trip to Michigan, I uncovered a piece of paper reminding me of a hefty credit at Bop I'd received after returning a pair of trouser jeans a shade - try 40 days - past the 30 day return window.

Then, while in Michigan and doing the research for my dress gloves post, I came across Bop's "getajump" promotional code.

And finally, to complete the tri-per-fecta, I found my dream coat, conveniently, also at Bop.

As Florentino well knows, if you wait long enough, those stars will align: