I need a 12-step program.

"Hello, my name is Ashley. I am my mother."

(In unison: "Hi, Ashley.")

I have three conferences coming up in the next year, and the last time I bought anything remotely resembling business casual was seven years ago. To start with, I weighed about thirty pounds more then. Plus, there are pleats. A lot of pleats. Pleats dancing hither and yon about my hips. I don't know what I was thinking, and to anyone who had to witness the pleats, I apologize.

So off I went into the world of fine gauge sweaters and twill trousers (without pleats).

I tried the Gap. And to whomever cuts the pants at the Gap, stop. No, seriously. Stop. I actually don't want the crotch between my knees.

Then I tried Express, which is great for dress clothes if you happen to be a hooker or have a thing for petroleum-based fabrics.

Then I went into Anne Taylor Loft. I went because it was there and because I was starting to think I'd have to attend the seminars naked. I would never have sought it out because, hello, my mother shops there, which is fine because she's almost 60. But I am not.

I left with three pairs of pants, a sweater and a belt. I really wanted a second belt, but they didn't have it in my size. Turns out, I am exactly the sort of person who would buy snakeskin. Who knew?

I could tell you they are very basic pants. And I could tell you they fit. And I could point out that Anne Taylor has the best vanity sizing. But none of that really matters because my mother and I now shop at the same stores. I am this close to clipping coupons for Metamucil.

This/close.