02.16.04 - 7:43 p.m.

I broke my Gap moratorium. Two years I went without purchasing anything from that place, but last Thursday the urge for new t-shirts became too strong. Now I look around and see fifty million things I could wear. That's the problem with the Gap. It's easy to justify a little acquisition here and there. Easy to slip back into old habits of "oh, it's only a $30 hoodie" and then suddenly you wake up hating everything in your closet. I won't be sad about the shirts, though. They look like C&Cs with the desired midriff to low-rise jean coverage and they're less than half the price. A gal's gotta scrimp where she can.

I'm afraid Dan's mom and sister think I'm too shallow because I read W instead of Time and because I look at the Kenneth Cole bags instead of the Liz Claibornes at Macy's. Do they think less of me because I can find a place in my wardrobe for an orange croc stiletto but have a hard time justifying the purchase of hiking boots? I don't care what labels they're wearing -- that's not how I think of them (I reserve that for Kerry). I's just that sometimes I feel like the dumbest one at the dinner table, that my priorities are out of whack, that I should care more about social issues and less about shoes.

This is starting to sound like a bad -- er, typical -- Carrie Bradshaw rant. I just need not to feel bad about liking what I like around my future in-laws. After more than two years, I'm not sure they know what to do with me. And that makes me feel guilty as hell.