The LSAT logic game that is "What do I wear today?"

A woman needs a going-to-work outfit.

A "going-to-work outfit" consists of either a dress (wrap, sheath or shift), a blouse and skirt (no shorter than an inch above the knee), a blouse and trousers, or a blouse and jeans (dark-wash, straight-legged).

What do we know?

1. Today's weather: high-80s, relatively low humidity and chance of precipitation later in the day.

2. Because the woman stayed up way too late last night watching Terminator 2: Judgment Day on the Encore Action channel, she was forced to (1) get fewer than seven hours of sleep (2) take an abbreviated shower (i.e. no shaving or exfoliating) and most painfully, (3) skip her and her dog's usual throw-the-squeaky-platypus-egg-while CHI-ing her Posh-bob routine.

3. Because the woman stayed up way too late last night eating half a bag of baked cheddar Chex Mix and two cans of diet ginger ale, her stomach feels not-so-good this morning.

4. The woman does not have a client meeting today.

What should she wear?

• due to heat, all heavy fabrics are eliminated

• due to stubble, all sleeveless and leg-baring options are eliminated

• due to Chex Mix tummy, all super fitted and Spanx-requiring options are eliminated

• due to no-client-interface, a dressier ensemble is not required

And just like that, 9/10 of the wardrobe is deemed ineligible, leaving the woman with one pair of grey wide-legged trousers, one pair of high-waisted black palazzo pants, two pairs of non-skinny jeans, a series of light pink, light blue, white, and cherry-print oxford shirts, two cap-sleeved cowl-necked shells in cranberry and ivory, and a mocha bead-detailed pouf-sleeved peasant blouse.

Whittling down the options even further, she recalls the grey pants are now a size too big, decides the high-waisted palazzo pants will accentuate her distendedness, determines cap-sleeves are too close to sleeveless, and rightly so, deems the pouf-sleeved blouse too "weekend" for the work-day.

So jeans, a button-down and heels (of course) it is. But which ones? The black Joe's Socialites or indigo AG Angels? And on top, is it the preppy Hamptonite pink, law-student-looking blue, journalist-on-assignment white, or northern-Michigan-reminiscent cherry-print?

The woman turns to shoes both for inspiration and because, well, she loves shoes. She hones in on a pair of caramel brown round-toed pumps with deconstructed side-bow adornment. Brown shoes mean her garnet studs and indigo jeans -- finally, it's down to the shirt. Because of her time crunch, she needs to make a swift and final decision.

She needs his opinion.

After modeling each one - and doing the full-twirl he uncompromisingly requires - the subtle left head-tilt indicates a clear winner with the cherry-print.

And that is a glimpse into the multi-variable logic game that is a woman's - this woman's, anyway - "what do I wear today?" daily decision-making process.

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.