Wherein I say 'lapels' four times in 45 seconds. (Subtitle: Winter coat of my discontent)

If I'm remembering what my 12th grade English teacher taught us, there are only three conflicts that are the basis of all literature: Man vs. Nature, Man vs. Man and Man vs. Self. Finding a coat covers all three. Kate vs. Winter, Kate vs. Other Shoppers, Kate vs. Kate's Doubts About Said Coat. I'd also like to throw in Kate vs. Bank Account, but I'm not sure which category that would be. (Sidenote: I had to delay buying Q-Tips the other day until I checked my balance.)

It's almost the end of October, and like the swallows of Capistrano, I return to the coat section of a major department store near you. It's an annual battle of wits. And every year I lose; I'm on my third coat in three years.

The grey pea coat was in shambles, so last year I got an almost identical tan one, a coat that managed to be simultaneously bulky and without a modicum of protection from the merest draft. Not one modicum. They had the heat cranked up really high in the store, lulling my Spidy senses into complacency.

I realized my mistake the instant I stepped out from the revolving door but I walked around all winter, shaking like a Chihuahua on an ice floe. I'm stubborn like that.

But this year, oh this year my friends, it would be different. Part of my plight is that there is such choice out there. Do I go formally woolen? Puffed up and casual? I fell in love with a red one, but that would clash with a lot of my clothes. Ditto apple green. I really wanted a white one, but I knew I wasn't a talented enough laundress to battle that city grime out. Nobody is.

So after trying on—and this is not an estimate—19,000 coats, I found a semi-puffy one. It's grey-green with gold undertones. (Looks better than it sounds. Or maybe not.) I like that it's long, and warm, and has a cool belt, but here's where it gets tricky: It has a wide collar, like one that goes out to the shoulders, which could be either extremely fashionable, or extremely clownish. After so many attempts, I'd given up the ability, and the will, to care.

I assume I'll be seeing a solid 80% of my readers in Boston this weekend, so feel free to let me know how "wicked queeah" it looks.

Still riding high on my baby-Halloween-costume-designing brilliance, I came up with my dream coat in my head while shopping, which led to this conversation the next day:

Me: "OK, here's what I would do on Project Runway."
A Certain Someone: "Go."
Me: "I would make a puff coat that's not too puffy that looks just like a trench coat, with like the lapels and stuff."
ACS: "I've seen that before."
Me: "No you haven't. I mean like not just a big collar, but lapels. Lapels!"
ACS: "I'm pretty sure I could take you to a store and find one just like that."
Me: "No way, I looked in every store in Manhattan. The brilliance of that coat would make Nina Garcia say, ‘It's a witty interpretation on a classic.' Michael Kors would weep openly."
ACS: "Hmmmm…"
Me: "I'm telling you. So cool. With toggles. And lapels!"
ACS: "Did you just learn the word 'lapel' or something?"