If you look in the mirror and you have to ask yourself for even one second, “Is this a shirt or a dress?”

Then it is always a shirt.

I know you really want it to be a dress. But if it were a dress, your ass cheeks wouldn't be hanging out. Do us all a favor and put on some pants.

Thanks, 

Charming

P.S. I realize that us Southern Gals are all about dressing up for football games and tailgates. I, like you, wore a little knit dress and appropriately colored accessories (chunky beads) to celebrate on Saturday. But let me offer some friendly fashion advice. Please, for the love of all things good in this world, stop wearing four-inch stilettos to football games. You’re just going to twist an ankle. If you’re too good for a pair of flip flops, invest in ballet flats. (Seriously, it is almost November and it is still flip-flop and knit dress weather here. Cherish this blessing.)

I was rolling through the aisles aimlessly, trying to decide what to cook. And this led me to a logical place – the meat counter. You see, I’ve been working hard in my post-vegetarian months to build dinners around meat instead of adding it in at the last minute.

So I’m looking at different cuts of meats – incidentally, I went with chicken breast and later made the world’s worst chicken. I’d meant to make a nice Parmesan crusted chicken breast, but oh did I crash and burn and end up with a lumpy mess. But, of course, I didn’t know that that this point.

What I did know at this point was that, gee golly, I was about to have an encounter of the uncomfortable kind. Because as I looked up from the applewood smoked pepper bacon, I spied a familiar face. One I’d only seen once in person but studied extensively via MySpace before coming to the conclusion that, yes, I was cuter than she is.

It was The Nurse’s Girlfriend, in all of her not me glory.

Whereas I looked put together – a rose-colored sweater with a cowl neck, wide-legged trouser jeans, flats, with my hair pulled back and simple makeup with glossy lips – she was not only wearing what I assume was an oversized men’s polo-style red plaid shirt and, horror of horrors, a SKORT.

Now, I know it is impolite to mock your ex’s current fling, especially when she was unfortunate enough to bear his spawn recently, but I really don’t care, because this isn’t actually about her right now. Girlfriend was wearing a denim skort. A pair of denim shorts with a faux skirt flap in the front. The definition of frumpy. And I should have just giggled and went about on my merry little way, happily not saddled with a child by a soulless liar. But at that moment, my New Year’s Resolution to find the blessings in my daily life fell from my mind and all I could think was, “He dumped me for someone who wears a skort.”

My maniacal fashion judgment gave way to the realization that she probably wasn’t alone. And I was right – The Nurse and Their Child were right behind her.

And, yep, I was there in my cute outfit, but hopelessly alone with a package of chicken breast and two baking potatoes. As I peered at him holding his baby and perusing the aisles, the blood drained from my face and I fumbled in my purse for my phone and called Southern Belle.

“Are you busy?”

“No, just painting my nails. What’s up?” she asked.

I told her I needed someone to distract me while I finished my shopping because I could not risk having to talk to the happy family.

And it turns out that I was going to need the distraction. Because they were everywhere – at the meat counter by the pork chops. In the deli section by the sliced cheeses and the prosciutto, comparing babies with another couple with an infant. At the seafood case by the scallops. In the produce section by the portabellas.

I was skillfully dodging him while carrying on my conversation and silently seething about how much I hated him for dumping me without bothering to give a reason and then occasionally dropping back into my life to flirt or suggest that we reunite for a night. And really hating myself the most for caring so much at this point and for letting him remain under my skin when I should have banished him like the poisonous rash that he is.

But as I went to replace a package of gnocchi on the pasta aisle, he was leading his brood down the same aisle and we ended up face-to-face. We made direct eye contact, he nodded and smiled to acknowledge me and I managed a weak smile and turned my cart around.

Later, as I walked to my car, I moped to Southern Belle.

“It isn’t him,” I said. “It is that he just dumped me for no reason, or at least if he had a reason he didn’t share it. And now he’s dating some woman who just doesn’t seem to be as fun as I am and he keeps popping up and making inappropriate comments to me and telling me how awful she is.”

“Yes, it would be easier if he were just gone.”

“Right. And, I’m sorry, she was wearing a skort.”

“Excuse me? His girlfriend was wearing a skort?” she asked.

“Yes, a skort. A denim skort. Like we wore in 1993. When we were 13.”

“Oh dear, I see why you’re upset,” Southern Belle said. “I don’t think there is any good reason to wear a denim skort out in public. Ever.”

“And this means I am officially the girl who got dumped for no reason so that her guy could go off and date a skort-wearer,” I said.

“The sad truth is, you’ll probably never know why he dumped you. And that’s crazy, but at least you’re not still with him,” Southern Belle said.

And she’s right. There isn’t always a tangible reason you can see for why a man dumps you. And that needs to be okay, because sometimes you’re the one the guy lusts after and the one who makes his heart pound.

And then other times you’re just not what he wants. And so, inexplicably, you get dumped for the girl in the denim skort.

I did want to reply to one comment from reader Ally who notes that me mentioning that young women should perhaps wear slips under their so that everyone cannot see their thongs (and butts) through their dresses shows that I am kind of out of touch with “young” women.

Ally, my darling, if not wanting the entire world to see my Lady Parts through my clothes makes me old and out of touch, then so be it. You can call me Grandma. (Or Miss Granny if you’re nasty.)

If you’re going to go to the trouble of wearing cocktail dresses with sequins to a semi-formal or formal event, you should at least have the kind sense to cover up your rear. Maybe there is a way other than a slip to accomplish this (a lined dress?), but a slip seemed like a good option to me.

Maybe it is the Southern Belle in me, maybe it is just how my Momma raised me, but I stand firm on my stance that no one should be able to see your ass cheeks out in public ever. And you can quote me on that.

Also, leggings still suck. And young girls wear dresses that are actually shirts and it is awkward. (See above, re: exposed Lady Parts.) And they wear too much eye make-up.

I am all about being fashionable, but you’ll find that as you age, practicality sometimes trumps trendiness. I suspect that no one would take me seriously if I showed up to work (or anywhere) with my undergarments showing through my whisper thin dress. And that could possibly cause me to lose my steady paycheck. And Lord knows we don’t want THAT to happen.

And when I start to think about these things, suddenly turning 28 soon doesn’t seem so bad.

One trend I’ve often chuckled at is that of the needless belt, where the wearer takes something that does not require help to stay up, like a sweater or a dress, and belts it anyway, as if to say, “It is physically impossible for this shirt to accidentally fall off, but stranger things have happened.”

And I’ve been ignoring this trend of Needless Belting all of this time because it seemed so, well, fussy. And while I am fussy about many things, I try to avoid piling on fussy accessories each day – you won’t catch me wearing big earrings to the office or an armful of bangle bracelets anywhere.

But then I got this sweater. And the description won’t do it justice and I don’t have a picture, but it is an open sweater jacket with a cowl-type neckline. Sounds awful, but it is actually adorable over a little camisole. It is a deep rose color and it looks great with my skin, but when I wear it I feel as if I’m stealing a page from Rue McClanahan’s “Golden Girls” wardrobe book. And even though I know the sweater is cute and it is extremely comfortable and it gets a lot compliments, the two times I’ve worn it, I found myself constantly adjusting it to keep it close to closed or at least evenly spaced across my chest.

Some of the more fashionable women at work suggested a belt would keep it closed and cinch my waist in a little. And I just smiled and nodded, thinking, “I can promise you will never find me belting something that doesn’t require a belt. Ever.”

But wouldn’t you know that I spied a slim-ish belt with a nice buckle on it when I was shopping Saturday and I thought I’d slip it on to see how silly it looked on me. And before I knew what was happening, I bought the belt and, well, when I tried it on with the sweater later at home, it looked cute. Really cute.

And before I knew what was happening, I was trying on different sweaters with the belt and, um, I’m 90 percent converted. I’m saving that last 10 percent for when I actually venture out of the house in said Needlessly Belted Ensemble.

My girlfriends have warned me that The Belting Of That Which Shall Not Be Belted confuses many men, which does confirm what I’ve heard and suspected, that men are put off by overly fashionable outfits because they worry that women who wear such clothes will be high maintenance. My friends report a myriad of annoying questions from guys about “Why you’re wearing that belt for no reason.”

I’m planning on saying, “Because it is fabulous.”

I have mixed feelings. It just seems so … violet.

How do you ladies wear this? Over black mascara? With thick eyeliner?

I really want to love this product, I do. I bought into the hype, hook, line and sinker. I mean, my Benefit counter here literally cannot keep the stuff in stock. But I’m going to need some advice because my lashes do not look as plump and fantastic as I’d hoped, my eyes don’t appear that much more blue and/or bright and I kind of feel like I’ve stepped into the 70s.

Am I doing something wrong? Was today just a fluke?