"It's the middle of the afternoon, I'm downtown, holding a doggie, and thinking about your ass."

The Kennette calls me at work the other day and, in the middle of some staggeringly steamy conversation about whether I wanted to get steak or chicken for dinner [not a euphemism, by the way], she just blurts out, "So... what are you wearing?"

For the record, it wasn't that saucy, unless flat-front Banana Republic chinos and some lame-ass corporate drone shirt-and-tie combo spins your wheels. But I appreciated the curiosity. And of course, it gets me curious as well. So to save me from calling each of you individually, I'll simply pose this question to the world:

"So... what are you wearing?"