Summer fashion blunders and how to avoid them

We know the hazy, hot and humid days of summer are upon the city, and while we are not fashion gurus ourselves (at least not in the class of the Herald's Ivana Martini, snicker), we want to point out a few things to our esteemed readers.

1. Gals: we understand completely that you've been wanting to get your legs out of their stuffy nylon-covered cocoon for six months and into an airy pair of flip-flops or sandals. We also understand that there are some places that require such torture devices to be worn, and that sometimes "less is more" (e.g. the longer the skirt, the better you can get away with a pair of cheap CVS knee-high nylons; summer weight pantyhose or ultra-sheer is also a good idea). But one thing is for certain - ankle-high nylons are for grandmas or for longer pants - not those gaucho pants that come up to your kneecaps. Ankle-highs are not for long, flowing peasant skirts with embroidered backless ballet flats. For an alternative to the dreaded pantyhose , thigh-highs (aka holdups) are a super bet and can be subtle, yet sexy. Just make sure you're not allergic to silicone. If you really want to go all out, hop over to Victoria's Secret, buy a garter belt, and a pair of real stockings. Again, subtle, yet sexy and much cooler than pantyhose.

2. Guys: Slathering on patchouli oil, deodorant, or cologne doesn't take the place of a hot shower. Nothing ruins a good summer wardrobe than smelling like a walking advertisement for Polo Green or BO. Shower as frequently as you can - whatever you do after that is your business. Also, if the only six-pack you possess is the one you grab out of the package store for a party, along with all sorts of party snacks, leave the shirt on or lose the weight. Polo shirts - always good; we live in them 24/7/365. Shorts - always good, just make sure they don't skim the ground, or they aren't shorts. And underwear - a must.

3. If you're going for the urban cowgirl look - denim skirt, cowboy boots, and cowboy shirt, please delete the nylon knee highs or hide them in your boots so they don't distract from the look. (Actually, this would be much better use for ankle-high nylons, even if you're wearing a long peasant skirt. Never go sockless - it causes chafing and makes the boots much harder to get off.) Ditto for the urban cowboy look - nothing screams "urban poseur" like dressing up like Kenny Chesney and then wearing beat up Chuck Taylors.

4. We know there are some people who are still mourning the passing of Crocodile Hunter™ Steve Irwin. If Steve were to see what one young "sheila" wore at the Brugger's Bagels in Harvard Square this morning - something that would remind us of a Steve he would likely bolt down from the heavens and scream, "Crikey! Even my daughter Bindi wouldn't even dream of putting that jumble together! The beige-colored boots are awful - my wife Terri would lock you in with the crocodiles...that's if the crocodiles weren't laughing their heads off!" Jules Crittenden would summarize thus: "Carnival of Insanities - Only in Boston sees national treasure Steve Irwin reincarnated as willowy brunette with boots...conjures spirit of Irwin and gets hit by lightning."

The Two Three Sides of The Three Little Pigs...

One involves a wolf huffing and puffing and destroying ("blowing down") two of the three pigs' houses. Simple enough, and defying the test of time. The Brothers Grimm, in the German translation, have a more graphic version of the story, with the wolf meeting his end in a pot of boiling water.

The other may require record-breaking timeouts and a farewell to Library Lady for a spell if your four or five year old retells a racier version of The Three Little Pigs - complete with sounds and other graphic terms extremely not suitable for kids - that would make Howard Stern blush.

In Vermont and Brookline, however, the parents themselves would probably retell the story at home, making the wolf a martyr overlorded by the bourgeoisie pigs, and became a hero to oppressed predators by advocating armed revolution and burning the pigs alive. The brick house would be converted a palace for the wolf and his faithful cadre, and the wolf would quickly implement agrarian reform so that any pigs living would have to turn over their crops to the state, who would then distribute them between the party leaders and let the survivors starve of hunger. Then, a big bad chimp with a Texas accent would come in and tell the people that the wolf had WMD; his troops would surround the wolf's palace, and the people, sick and tired of the wolf's dictatorship (and the presses puff pieces on the wolf), would overthrow the wolf and destroy the printing presses of his fans. The wolf would be put into exile until he died of media neglect.

Morons, Inc.

Jules Crittenden gives us the roll call of idiots, dunces, know-nothings, and other people who should be thrown into the short bus of knowledge and have the truth drilled into them by hardcore Marine Corps DI's from Parris Island.

Item: if Jeff Spiccoli were around today, he'd dope slap Sean Penn - and not just for his cheesy mustache.

Item: Rosie O'Donnell - who thought that in ten years she'd drop from The Queen of Nice to the Queen of Conspiracy Theories?

Stop the illegal (giggle, snort) occupation (snicker, snort) of Lichtenstein (BWAH HAH HAH HAH!)

It's a good thing the Swiss and the Lichtensteiners are on such good terms, that they called one another regarding this military gaffe:

Swiss: Mein Leibscher Fruend, Es tut uns leid... wir Ihr Land durch Unfall eindrangen...das einige unserer Soldaten dachten, daß sie noch in der Schweiz waren!
My dear friend, we're sorry for invading your country - our soldiers still thought they were in Switzerland!

Lichtensteiners: Das ist kein Problem! Selbst wenn Sie die Amerikaner waren, haben wir nichts, das hier einzudringen wertvoll ist!
That's no problem! Even if you were the Americans, we have nothing valuable here to invade!

Swiss: Das ist Recht! Und wer würde überhaupt die Schweiz eindringen? Alle für Kuckucksuhren und Toblerone?
You're right! And who would ever invade Switzerland? All for cuckoo clocks and Toblerone?