Since I don't (yet)

Herringbone tweed dress with drape collar
$148 at anntaylor.com

Nothing like thigh-highs to make Monday less Monday-like

A friend of mine, we'll call her "G," was having a pretty bad start to her day this morning.

Her bangs wouldn't cooperate and had to be headbanded back - which of course, changed her entire permutation of outfit choices and caused her to leave the apartment later than she'd planned - she found a chip, albeit a tiny one, in her just-pedicured-last-Thursday Chanel 'Black Ceramic' polish, and most frustrating of all, she had to eat the dust-like dregs of her last box of Special K Red Berry with an insufficient amount of still-smelled-okay-but-just-barely skim milk.

"There has to be something I can wear to make this Monday less Monday-like," she thought to herself, but as she searched through her four-tiered jewelry box, her six-shelved shoe display and her three makeup bags (1. home 2. travel 3. special occasion), nothing presented itself as an obvious and assured pick-her-up. She looked down at her puppy, hoping for a sympathetic face but instead noticed his stare laser-focused on the dresser adjacent to her bed. "Of course," she said out loud, bending down to rub the little bit of baby scruff still left on his nearing-adulthood head. Like my Montesquieu, G's dog, too, has a gifted aptitude for fashion, as evidenced by his silent but forceful recommendation for her to peruse her neatly color/fabric/style assembled drawers of unmentionables. Finding nothing particularly inspirational in the left-hand drawer - the one that housed all her above-the-waist garments - she turned to its right-hand counterpart. In a matter of seconds, she selected just the thing.

Or things, really.

Now, despite the kind of exhibitionist we all know my friend can be, she's never actually worn black thigh-highs with two-inch lace trim and matching accoutrements to work before. At least that's what she told me. "It just never seemed appropriate," she wrote in her mid-morning e-mail, though with her questionable standards in other style-related areas (e.g. dressy short shorts in the office, black nail polish at her brother's wedding, vintage micro-mini at Morton's in Georgetown, etc.), I am honestly quite surprised it took her this long to take the plunge.

Her story reminded me of that post I wrote a few weeks ago on spa treatments in which women indulge not for others but for themselves. Like a Brazilian wax, dressing like page 44 of the Victoria's Secret catalogue underneath her Ann Taylor separates is something a woman does solely for herself.

And maybe, if (s)he's lucky, that bored, didn't-get-any-over-the-weekend-again soul sitting at just the right angle in the board meeting.

Explanation.

You may be wondering where that post on Rayburn style I promised you yesterday morning is hiding.

Truth is, in typical Washington form, my event was postponed an hour before it was supposed to begin, and I never had a chance to see if my suspicions that the good-looking interns live under their bosses desks and that the rest of the them almost perfectly match their boxy Ann Taylor Loft twinsets to the the beige walled, beige floored and beige doored corridors were actually true.

Another time, I promise.

Wardrobe staple alert

You must follow my lead and invest as quickly as you can in the sure-to-be-worn-multiple-times-a-week, slight-pouf, cap-sleeved silk button up from Ann Taylor I discovered yesterday after work. It comes in three colors, only one of which - creamy ivory - however, is worth your $68. The others - dusty rose and lavender - are sobering reminders of why Ann Taylor is, has been, and always will be a more-for-Mom kind of store.

Even so, sometimes, like yesterday, when I brave the bitchy, tired looks from the over-45 crowd with their uncared for split ends and three-inch cuffed, high-waisted-but-not-in-a-good-way poly-blend trousers, I can find wardrobe staples so powerfully versatile and so powerfully me they shake the very foundation of my outfit rotation.

Unlike similar silk cap-sleeve oxfords I've tried on over the past four months at Banana Republic, Barney's Co-op, Club Monaco, Nordstrom and various vintage boutiques, this AT blouse is tailored in such a way that when I tucked it into my DVF Marple skirt this morning on my very first try, I didn't have a single side pucker or errant material jut. It slid in as quickly and cleanly as...well, let's just say it was a good moment.

Not before this morning has it ever happened that I can't decide what to wear because I have too many favorable options. Usually, it's the case that something isn't dry-cleaned, something isn't ironed, or something was tragically left behind in a hurried 3am departure from an adjacent-to-the-White-House five-star.

But not today.

Today, doing my best back-when-she-was-hot Elisabeth Shue impression standing in front of my closet in nothing but every woman's first, second and third order wardrobe components (i.e. peep-toes, bra and Brazilian Tangas), I couldn't decide among my new blouse and wide-legged black trousers, my new blouse and an at-the-waist black pencil skirt, my new blouse and an at-the-waist chocolate brown pencil skirt, my new blouse and dressy black bermudas, and so on. Finally, I turned to the fashion sage that is my 19 month old Jack Russell pup, and gave him a look that plainly said, "help."

Understanding the gravity of the time crunch his mother was under, the 13-pound style soldier pivoted on his back left paw, strode over to the row of below-the-waist items laid out on our bed, and after a few minutes of silent thought, he honed in on the black Marple skirt. Turning to me, he gave a subtle nod that indicated his decision had been made, and after kissing the paw in gratitude, I slipped on my favorite designer's silk jersey bow-accented masterpiece and was on my way.

I would provide you with a picture of my new discovery, but unfortunately, it's so new, so reasonably-priced and so fabulous, it's not yet listed on Ann Taylor's website. In case you're confused about what the style of this shirt looks like, this Banana Republic one comes pretty close, but as you might recall I discussed at length in a previous posting, that even when I tried this top on three clicks above my normal size, the fit across the chest made me look almost as unfortunate as the keyhole disaster that was Sela Ward at the 2002 Golden Globes.

My advice to you is to skip that trip to Cosi today, heck, skip lunch altogether, and head straight for the AT nearest your office. For those few of you who don't already know, the mirror rewards those with rumbly stomachs. And think of it this way, the $8-10 you don't spend on the Gorgonzola-filled salad and piece of side bread you don't really need, anyway, can be better invested in shoes, accessories, and appetite suppressants like gum and caffeinated beverages.

Diet caffeinated beverages.