What I need is a miracle bra to boost my spirits. A sari equipped with sorrys for any time I step out of line. Stiletto heels that double as pickaxes to dig my way out of bad decisions. Cargos that help my car go. A G-string that plays in the key of we. A jumpsuit that jolts my soul into rapturous rounds of psychic double dutch. Scrunchies that double as munchies. A chastity belt to keep my angry thoughts in check. A pencil skirt that writes spontaneous poetry. A bustier that allows me to roll with the punches like Buster Keaton. Some may consider this line of thought mere crossdressing. I call it a way of putting my most fashionable foot forward.