And in my book, diff'rent is effin' good. I was actually conducting business in another distant part of Coffman Hall at the U when I saw these yak-inspired shoes go by. Well. When you combine my mad tracking skillz with a lifelong obsession with thatched animals -- yaks, Highland cows, donkeys, Westies, sheepdogs, my soon-to-be husband in the 70s -- you get exactly the sort of incident her parents warned her about when she packed her bags for the US of A. Mom, dad, it's true, people are sick here but in a mostly harmless way. Nothing a little
sake mace can't cure.
First of all, you won't find any of her wardrobe wonders at the MOA -- all bought in Japan. So until some wiz kid comes up with a way to permanently adhere a yak toupee to some swell suede wedges with hand-stitched soles, there's going to be a trade imbalance. That's yak-ro economics -- super esoteric. Don't even try. Higher up the wardrobe chain of love, please note the PhD-level briefcase holding a thesis on why smaller is better. Prerequisite? Go to Japan and bring your American Express. Vest upon vest, you can't have two many. Molecular models of awesome hang from her earlobes.