Shoes: Ami Clubwear
Sunglasses: Candie's, Kohl's
Tee: American Rag, Macy's
Skirt: Material Girl, Macy's
Shoes: Worthington J. C. Penney's
Bag: Nine West, Boscov's
Belt: Wet Seal
Sunglasses: Candie's, Kohl's
This week I have only this paltry pair of vaguely mint outfits to offer. But rest assured that there's more --a whole dessert buffet more! -- waiting in the wings for next week.
Then again, sometimes three is a crowd.
WARNING: Spoiler alert ahead! If you're not watching Fox's "The Last Man on Earth" and you want to start watching it without being first exposed to my spin, then stop reading right now and go get yourself a cupcake.
In the pilot, Will Forte's Phil is wandering the Arizona desert alone, everyone else on the planet having been wiped out by some mystery virus. He does what I imagine most men would do, which is to say that he steals stuff (priceless art, the Oval Office rug, and a stucco mansion to put it all in), watches and mocks Cast Away only to assemble his own army of Wilsons, chats up a mannequin, and turns his swimming pool into a toilet, all while sporting a Grisly Adams-style beard. The sun-drenched desert is as beautiful as it is creepy, the ideal setting for this Twilight Zoney, hilarious yet haunting story, and Phil falls somewhere between pathetic and tragic. Still, despite this potential for depth, halfway through I couldn't help but worry that the whole thing was going to burn down to a vehicle for frat-style cheap thrills. Then, at the end of the episode, everything changed. Overcome with his plight, Phil tries to do himself in only to be distracted by a beautiful, doting woman, the kind of his dreams. Turns out, she is a dream, although not of the mirage quality ("Last Man on Earth" isn't as easy as all of that). She morphs into a gun-toting, takes-no-prisoners Kristen Schaal! Only her name is Carol. And she's just as kooky as you'd expect. Clad in eccentric outfits, this craft-a-holic is a combination of annoying and endearing. She knows what's what, insisting that man-child Phil fix her front door, rig up some plumbing, and, oh yeah, marry her so that they can (legitimately) repopulate the Earth. Phil grumbles at every grammar correction and to-do list item but begrudgingly, if slowly, begins to mend his slovenly ways. The ensuing "yes, dear" dynamic brings a typical element to an atypical situation, making for a funny story line that reaffirms the classic sitcom marriage even as it challenges it. Because the get-it-together-or-die message throbbing through Carol's near-hyper pursuit of the moral high ground makes it clear that she's no wilt-in-the-background wife, but a spunky, spirited force that's going to kick the world back into gear. And I like to think that, despite his protests, deep down, Phil knows this, too. In fact, he seems to get downright cozy with the idea (and Carol!) as they enjoy a post-nuptial drive down the deserted desert streets when -- BAM! -- they collide with a car. Yep, that's right. There's someone else out there. And it's January Jones as Melissa, a blonde beauty with whom Phil is instantly smitten.
See? Sometimes three is a crowd. Not to mention one too many for a gum commercial.