Don't tell my husband, but I just spent $80 on one undergarment. We won't call it a bra, we'll call it a brassiere.

When one has special needs, one seeks a specialist. So it was that I ventured to J. Alane's in the tony Lassiter shopping village. A girl who did not look unlike P!nk took me back, asked me outright my bra size, and then laughed as I measured two inches smaller in one area and two inches bigger in another. Who knew? She then pushed, pulled, and mauled me into the garment in question.

What does my eighty smackers get me? A French-made, long-lasting, uber-supportive brassiere that lifts the girls and smoothes, shapes, whatever else you can think of. Whilst other gals may spend their money on clothing consultants and wardrobe assistants, I went a bit deeper. I believe a solid foundation will serve me well.