Fuglias

The other weekend, Jessica and I were sitting around crimping each others' hair and twisting our jelly bracelets when she said, "You know what I miss? High-waisted pants."

"Oh, God, me too," I said. "The kind of pants that give you a belly even when you don't have one -- like ski pants often do."

"Yes," Jess nodded eagerly. "It's TIME. My pubic bone just needs a rest, you know what I mean? Low-low-low rise jeans have worn it out, and it just wants to go into hiding for a while."

"But they can't just come back without an extra little touch," I decided.

At this, Jessica leaned forward eagerly, casting aside the legwarmers she'd been fondling and fiddling with her Swatch buckle. "What I'd really like," she said, "would be for somebody to take high-waisted pants up a notch. I mean... up. To another level. To new heights."

I gasped. "Not...boob-high?"

Jessica nodded. "But I don't dare to dream," she sighed.

And so God stepped in -- and by God, I mean Mia Maestro:

Our prayers have been answered, Jessica.