To tide you over till my Project Runway recap, I bring you an example of a “crime against maternity fashion” to illustrate last week’s episode. Girl, break down and get some ACTUAL maternity wear! Or maybe it’s the lack of fashionable maternity clothing that makes young moms stay in their regular clothing for far too long… Discuss!

Okay, fine. I cannot tell a lie. I didn’t cook this weekend, either. I was too depressed. Hint: “Fucking Jewelry”.

Anyway, I had these in reserve from several days ago, and I thought they would cheer me up. Go get the eye bleach, Miz Shoes.

I will stop picking on the men. Soon. It’s just been so damn hot and muggy, the women are hiding in the air conditioning.

In my continuing role of Fashion Police, here is today’s episode of Crimes Against Fashion.

What? You think women are the only offenders? In honor of Tim Burton’s upcoming production of “Alice In Wonderland”, I bring you… Tweedle-dum!

I seriously need to clean the lens of my iPhone.

What is it with you people?!? No! No! No! No! No!

Unless of course you’re on your way to “work”…

Please keep in mind that, while I am technically “petite”, I am not tiny. Which does not mean that I am prejudiced against full-sized, full-figured women. I am one. I’m just short. That also does not mean, however, that common sense gets thrown out the window.

So, just one small observation, before I forget, inspired by my shopping trip to Tar-jay, yesterday, and specifically addressed to whoever makes the “Merona” label:

It should be against the law to manufacture “Daisy Duke” shorts – denim, twill, or any other fabric – in size 18. Some things are just really not meant to be. You people are encouraging bad behavior.

I wanna write citations.

That is the question.

If you’ve been judging me by my posts since – I guess, October of last year – you probably think that when I’m not gathering dust bunnies to be woven into Navajo blankets (Miz Shoes – would there be a market for that?), I must be sitting around thinking deep thoughts about politics and the economy, and cats. And I do. (Oh, puhleeeze!)

But I have a confession. I love Project Runway. I had a great time recapping Project Runway last season. I miss Project Runway. I wish the courts would shit or get off the pot and settle the damn lawsuit(s) so we can get on with our lives. I mean, they’ve already got the entire season in the can – including the Fashion Week Finals – so that’s going to take a little edge off watching the show to start with. It’s kind of tough to root for your favorites and boo the villain(s) when you know in the back of your mind that the outcome was decided weeks – even months – ago.

And despite myself, I love America’s Next Top Model (ANTM). I can’t help it. It’s like watching a train wreck and the Miss U.S.A. pageant on split screen, and then the split dissolves. I am considering blogging America’s Next Top Model, Cycle 12 (12!). I haven’t started yet for several reasons.

First, I can’t keep up with 2 dozen gerbils running hither thither and yon and shrieking for no reason for the better part of 2 hours. It’s considerably easier when they’re down to 12. Also, I have much to live up to – there’s the incomparable Potes at Television Without Pity (see the link in my blogroll for TWOP: ANTM); and of course, my most excellent friend, Miz Shoes at Girlyshoes (link also over there in the blogroll). Oh, and by the way – Allison doesn’t look like a lemur. She looks like a Tim Burton heroine. Or heroin. Your choice.

Second – and I know this is going to sound weird – but, well, it’s MJ. It suddenly dawned on him that I’m blogging, somewhere near the end of last season’s PR. Since then, if he’s in a pissy mood, and if I’m not doing something that he thinks I should be doing, he rags on my blogging (“Oh, you’re too busy BLOGGING, are you?” “Actually, I haven’t written a word in two weeks. I’m playing Luxor.”).

On the flip-side of that, since he became aware that I blog (small b) Project Runway, and that I might blog ANTM, he has become the “other bitch on the couch.” In seasons-past, MJ has watched these shows with me occasionally – just enough to keep up – and made enviably snide observations. Which I dutifully quoted, unbeknownst to him. I noticed during last week’s ANTM (during which I did take a couple of notes), that he was making a point of really watching the show. And deliberately commenting FOR MY BENEFIT (re: Monique the Conspiracy Theorist: “Ah! Monique the Conspiraposer!” “Honey, how are you spelling that?” “What do you mean?” “Well, there’s conspiraPOSER and there’s conspiraPOSEUR.”)

And then, at the second commercial break, “Is it time yet to play our favorite game?” “Which game is that, Honey?” “Can You Spot The Lesbian!”

And I can’t yet. Can you? I’m sure there must be one…. even if SHE doesn’t know it yet….

So you see, there’s the far more experienced competition, and then there’s the guy I married, whose one-liners are better than mine. I’m so intimidated.

You know, I just can’t leave this alone. I’m having freaking nightmares about this dress!

About six or seven years ago, MJ used to be awe-struck by adult people on inline skates. “Hey! He’s around my age! If he can do it, why can’t I?” So for the holidays that year, I got him (and me) inline skates, pads, helmet – the works. And you know what? Neither one of us could stay vertical for more than, oh, I don’t know, 60 seconds at a time. Size 14 inline skates apparently being very difficult to find, I did manage to make a profit on them on eBay.

High heels.

Can’t wear ‘em. Oh, well, not strictly true. I can put them on my feet. I can stand up and remain vertical for, oh, I don’t know, 60 seconds at a time.

I watch other women on Flagler Street walking in them and wonder how they do it. Then I realize that no, they can’t either. They’re all leaning forward, ankles wobbling a bit. And I think to myself, “Geez, the shoes are cute, but why would you wear something you can’t walk in upright?”

What brought this on? Well, MJ made some tea and an English cheddar cheese plate, and put on an Eddie Izzard show that he recorded awhile back. I am in awe of Eddie Izzard. Not because he’s an actually intelligent and apparently well-educated comedian – which he is – but because of his shoes. They’ve got to be six-inch spike heeled, pointy toe boots. They’re really cute.

No, I have not been able to take my eyes off of his feet. And I can’t help saying out loud, “Dammit! If he can wear those things, why can’t I?“