My Meeting with Tim Gunn

Brooke, the unhappy SAHM
Guest Writer

When I first met Tim Gunn, I was not impressed. He hovered around my celebrity friend with a faintly raised eyebrow and a snoot full of condescension. She was ushered into the store's office and given a private meeting while us peons sat out in the main area, browsing clothing I would eat before I wore, for these prices.
They all came out, my friend beaming, Tim wearing his most dour expression. On the way out, he fell in step with me. He glanced over at me, and spoke.
"You know, I'm going to have to include a picture of that luggage."
Confused, I looked at my hands, which were holding nothing.
"Not *that*. Those." I looked at my knee high, fur-lined boots, which I had thought looked good with snug jeans tucked into them. I still did! He went on to say that I did good in choosing the boot-cut style of jeans, as it gives the sense of proportion with such curves, but the boots really did ruin the symmetry, and they had to go. I think he was complimenting my butt. I'm not sure.
He pointed out several items as we walked by; a DKNY white shirt with half-bell sleeves, and a timeless trench that would fall 'just right above the ankle. I had no idea why they would have looked good on me, but I would have mortgaged my house for those outfits right then.
As we reached the door, I realized something. I love Tim Gunn. He was suddenly beautiful to me, with his neat little suits, droopy, beautiful eyes and his tilted low glasses. Dapper, smarmy little man that he was, I was horrified that I was never going to see him again! Where was I going to learn which social occasiona I can wear dark jeans for, and who was going to encourage me to try a flouncy top with skinny jeans. I watched him go, silently crying out, but knowing that I had nothing to keep him.
Don't forget me, Tim.