Here's why: I can't wear a onesie.

I sit at the dining room table in the mid-morning sun. To my right stands a mug of tepid coffee and in front of me lies the Urban Outfitters summer catalog.

I flip through the pages and search for a few items to add to my closet. I hate buying summer clothes; they're so bland or worse -- beachy. Many pieces are too revealing or impractical. I'm too thin to wear this shirt and too short to wear that dress. Plus, I don't like pastels.

Page by page I eliminate overly revealing tank tops and hideous frocks and shorts. Nobody needs to see my stick legs. Then I see it: Lux Tube Top Cuff Short Onesie.

A onesie?! I think. How bizarre is that? Does anybody over the age of five even wear those? And in brown? It looks like a UPS driver's uniform. Still, it's kind of cute. How much is it?

As soon as I consider the price I know things have gotten out of hand. While allowing the left side of my brain to relax by leisurely shopping, the right side -- more specifically, the part of a woman's right brain that tells her the pair of six-inch heels are worth the bloody feet or that she can pull off a leopard-print, crushed-velvet suit or that a gimpy girl can comfortably and justifiably wear a one-piece delivery-carrier's ensemble -- has taken control.

"No," says lefty.

"It could work," says the right side.

"No no no."

"It comes in extra small. It would fit."

"Think of how fun that's going to be -- having somebody dress you in that. It will be like putting on footy pajamas or a swimsuit. You despise swimsuits. You said once you feel like you're being smothered."

"It's different now because this doesn't have straps."

"And...?"

"So the straps are what I hate. They don't pull up easily and make the suit tight. This onesie has a tube top. I love tube tops. No straps!"

"So when someone carries you the shirt won't have any give because it's connected to your ass, which, by the way, is huge and will yank the top down and flash passersby."

"At least the shirt won't ride up. You'll never see my panties."

"The pants will."

"What?"

"Do you not think at all? Consider the wedgie. No matter what way you move or are repositioned, the shorts will twist and bunch and jam themselves in your butt. Remember that one time in Myrtle Beach?"

"No, I --"

"Mother pulled you out of the pool and was carrying you to the lounge chair to be with Aunt Tammy and Aunt Carol. You were wet, so the suit clung to --"

"I asked her to fix that wedgie."

"She told you she would adjust your suit once she sat you down. But it was too late. Your swimsuit was so crooked that your cooch was on display as you passed all those sunbathers."

"Stop it. These are shorts. They'll cover the cooch. I'll make someone fix them if they get too uncomfortable. I can suffer this once."

"Yeah? How are you going to pee?"

The right tries frantically to counter, thinking maybe I could only wear the onesie to parties or when I know I'd be changing clothes within eight hours. Maybe if I added some snaps in the crotch like babies (or -- to use a less humiliating example -- young ballerinas) have on their onesies ...

Snaps? Am I joking? How freakish will that look in a public restroom -- with whoever is helping me's hands fumbling with tiny fasteners and their face between my legs? Might as well just toss me onto the diaper-change station and powder my ass, too.

With that single question, the left side wins.

Fashion: 0, Logic: one(sie).