My husband never criticizes what I’m wearing. And I mean never. Well, he did once when he referred to an unfortunate purchase of mine from the thrift store by saying, “Where did you get that schmata?” Schmata is Yiddish for rag. It wasn’t exactly a rag, it was a big earth mother jumper, remember those?

Anyway, he either says “You look great” or he says nothing. When he says nothing, I ask him if I look great and he nods.

But there are times when intervention on the attire front is warranted. I tell about one night on our way to a little race track out in the country in Stop Me Before I Make a Big Mistake.