A New Day

This morning we wish we could wear winter-white boiled wool with colorful gemstones on our fingers and ears. Sort of Native American princess in ceremonial garb meets my expensively dressed mother at Christmas wafting Chanel and recently manicured glossiness. Definitely not a day for jeans. (Check back soon for a diatribe titled "Jeans Are Dead," or "We Grow Weary of Other People's Butts")