My mother was very critical of me and my choice of fashion as well. I will tell you that she was a very stylish woman and had a closet full of clothes. It was he "mask" to the world. Look at me. Look how well I am dressed. I am worth something.

Me? Jeans. The more holes the better. And black tops. She hated black.

I've always heard those "you're wearing that? -- don't you have anything other than black?" voices in my head, but after she died, I realized that those comments were more about her than me (her seeing me as a representation of her own self) and now I wear things that would royally piss her off or she would hate, and I revel in it. So hike up those skirts, WI, and join me.

We'll call it payback.