Lest you think my passion for a sale only applies to beauty products...
Lo those many months ago when I was a yet-to-be-married milkwench (or whatever), Elizabeth traveled to Boston to meet me for a wedding-gown fitting and to learn to bustle the train of my dress.
We hadn't seen in each other in far, far too long, so I was thrilled to see her sitting comfortably on one of the intriguingly modern settees in the Vera Wang salon, waiting for me to arrive.
She stood, and she was wearing the most wonderfully fantastic pair of gauchos ever (definition 2, for my readers who aren't quite with me). She looked even more stunning than usual, which is...well, it's a hard feat to pull off.
Sure, the seamstress was expertly crafting the most wonderful white-net confection I could have imagined just for me, but at that moment, I lusted after those pants. I could never borrow hers, as gauchos that fit Elizabeth would most likely fall past my ankles, given her statuesque, er, stature. (I bet she knee-caps me for that comment, but oh well.)
Anyway. Months passed, and although no new pants came into my life, the gauchos did occasionally whisper in my mind's ear, "What if?" I looked around, but everything I found was either (a) hideous, (b) expensive, or more often (c) both. Gauchos, particularly gorgeous ones, seemed to have an inverse cloth-price relationship; the fewer the yards of material, the greater the number of dollars.
Then, while idly wandering Target's insanely addictive e-aisles last month, I stumbled upon a pair of gauchos similar to Elizabeth's fantastic pair.
They cost $12.99.
I blinked. I didn't care that I'm roughly seven-and-a-half fashion seasons too late, or that the pants in question are marketed in the Juniors department by a brand of clothing that thought it was clever to spell "exhilaration" without the initial "e."
I got them.
And they are glorious.