Those that know me REALLY well might know that I once wanted nothing more than to design clothes.  So much so that I got out of 5th grade science by pretending to throw up when the dead frogs came out to be dissected.  Instead, I drew a catalog of a year's worth of clothes, some for each season, with swatches of fabric attached. (That was the science part?)  My models, which I will scan and show sometime soon, were tall, with bell-bottoms and fabulous poofy hair.  I liked then - and still now - anything sailor-esque.

Now, I click through reams of runway photos, and never miss an On the Street by Bill Cunningham, my hero.  In fact, when my column at the Chronicle was named (not by me) On the Couch the only thing that made it work for me was that it echoed his.

So, for those who are at all fashion inclined, even in this week of Security Council voting and Obama-baiting, read me here at the Ironing Board Collective.

Me, I'm off to search desperately for orange pants.  Can't afford Marc Jacobs, alas.