"A wine box! Unforgiveable!" she snorted as she flounced into the next boutique with Rudolfo. Her name was Fancy, and she often moaned about that fact privately to her 750 most intimate friends on Facebook, tweeted it to the world on Twitter, and chewed it over until the wee hours on her blog, Confessions of a Posh Styler. She thought about changing her name but couldn't decide: Verenique? Cari? Silk? (Psilk?) Polls conducted on social media were inconclusive, and she tended to set the problem aside whenever more pressing issues came up - like what to wear and what/whom to bring to Trina and Tony's next Saturday afternoon. They were calling it a garden party - if you could call that little patio off the alley a garden. Fancy would need to work some serious magic to bring in a little tone. Thus the shopping expedition with Rudolfo (infallible in the territory of scathing wit and forward style) and the search for The dress. And The bottle of wine. Who made that suggestion, anyway - she was so disconcerted that she couldn't even remember. She just knew that when she did, that social zero would be off her lists (every one of them) forever.