I am at Walgreens – which I always thought of as a “drugstore” – marveling at the denim shirts on sale for $12.99. 

I am lost in fashion thought.  These look awfully good. The label looks smartly Banana Republic-like. “RealGoodDenim,” it reads, 100% cotton, made in China.  It has what you intellectual property lawyers would call a good “look and feel.”

I am trying to decide whether I am Medium or Large, on the reasonable assumption that Walgreens has no dressing rooms to try things on (although it does have $9.99 football-size pink piggy banks and $99 four-page-a-minute computer-printers).

My cell phone rings.

“Hi, where are you?”

It’s Charles.  I explain that I am in front of this remarkable display of $12.99 denim shirts at Walgreens (grinning, as I imagine his reaction) and –

“Do NOT buy clothes at Walgreens,” Charles instructs.

“But . . .”

“Do NOT buy clothes at Walgreens,” he repeats, a note of panic creeping into his voice.  (After all, how I look is, vaguely, a reflection on him.)  It is the same note of panic, more or less, coming from a different place, that inflects my voice when Charles shops at Prada.  Socks, at Prada, cost thousands of dollars.

I hesitate.  I am considering the ethics of the situation. 

The shirts are, after all, only $12.99.  And they are clearly $39 shirts.  This is a powerful tug on my moral compass.  But tug enough to risk making Charles angry?  And would it really make him angry?  And, in any event, can’t I just fib?

Charles senses my hesitation.  He is a brilliant fashion designer.  He knows style better than I know anything.

“Promise me,” he says one more time . . . slowly . . . “that you will not buy clothes at Walgreens.”

“OK,” I say, taking two shirts off the rack.  Tomorrow, I plan to go back for more.