This one falls under "Sugar, spice, such a freakin' girl":

It wasn't just a dress. To paraphrase a Tom Cruise movie line from an idyllic time, a time before he scared the bejeezus out of me, it was an Audrey Hepburn movie - and I was in the mood for breakfast at Tiffany's.

Black silk, strapless, fitted bodice with a skirt that flared out slightly before falling at the knee. Ribboned waist with slight pleating in the front. The little black dress that not so much screams as quietly demands a string of pearls and a pair of kitten heels.

I have the kitten heels and I'd sure as hell buy the pearls for this number, I thought as I stood, staring wistfully at the dress as it flattered a mannequin behind the shop window. The little black dress to end all little black dresses - and this statement would never ever go out of style.

My mother instilled in me, at a young age, that every woman needs the little black dress. And while I have a dress that is little and black, I've always been on watch for The Dress. And here it was, at the Pru. Simple and elegant and absolutely gorgeous.

Michelle watched me drool and asked if I wanted to try it on. I declined, postponing the moment I either fell completely in love or realized it was actually The Little Black Dress That Doesn't Work On Me. So, instead, I bid it one more wistful glance as we made our way to the T, discussing the little black dress lifestyle.

Now, I'm not so much of a little black dress kind of girl - or at least, I don't appear to be the type. I'm more of the perfect pair of jeans kind of lady. Jeans that fit in with rock shows, a casual day at the office, a latte and conversation or a drive on the way to an adventure. Dress 'em up, sure, but usually, I dress 'em down - in a good kind of way.

The question arose: would either of us want the little black dress life? Of events over get-togethers, dainty heels over heeled boots, up-dos instead of ponytails?

Well, actually, I kind of would. At least, every once in awhile.

The next day, we found the dress at another shop, at another shopping center, and I tried it on. The store employee asked me what event the dress was for as she led me to a changing room, and I replied that every woman needs a little black dress. She nodded knowingly.

It fit, it flared, I felt like Holly Golightly. As I opened the door and twirled, Michelle remarked that it looked great, but it wasn't typical me.

I thought to myself, "You know, that may be just what I need." I haven't bought it, but I'm still thinking about it. Mulling it over.

(Praying it goes on sale sometime soon.)

I'm not talking about giving up Red Stripes for vodka martinis, but I find myself trying to bridge the gap between the jeans lifestyle and its more "sophisticated" silk contemporary. A lean a bit toward my girlier, fashionista side these days. Or at least a step toward it. In fact, I considered recently wearing my favorite pair of jeans with a pair of black stilettos.

Of course, then I remembered I don't own a pair of stilettos because I always thought I'd break an ankle (in fact, my most recent shoe purchase? Chuck Taylors. Ahem.) But then I thought about buying some. Why? Because some of them are pretty and I'd feel particularly pretty in them. Besides, they'd be special occasion shoes, not ones for everyday.

(Ay, there's the rub. Even when feeling flighty and fanciful, practicality rears its sensible head.)

I've started to compile a list of materialistic, clothing-related wants. I always have one, of course, but this time, I'm starting to lust after things I wouldn't have otherwise considered. Still me and my style, of course, but decidedly different facets of it. Surprisingly so.

Which makes me wonder two things:

1 - How in trouble I'm going to be when my tax refund arrives.
2 - Where I could wear a perfect little black dress.