...you don't have to wear that dress tonight....
We gather tonight to drink fifteen-dollar cocktails at Spike and Charlie’s, (who I’d link to but their account has been disabled), watch one of the Gorgeous Girls in the tackily cultish Rocky Horror Show, and dine at The Brass Elephant (whose logo is exceptionally phallic, especially if you squint) afterwards. This is good. Entertaining oneself is the Prime Directive. The dress code is Urban Chic, whatever that means, and I wear flats now, anticipating heels later. I think this is the perfect opportunity to trot out my coolly vintage but politically incorrect mink. However.
The decision-making area of my brain being somewhat underdeveloped, some time after the birth of my first child, I switched to a monochrome wardrobe. Shoe buying instantly was simplified, as was matching tops to bottoms.
I have always been inclined to take both, when faced with a choice. It creates a certain broad-mindedness that is actively immobilizing in certain situations.
As in, what shall I wear?
(Roxanne; The Police)