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Back from dinner, we meet up with stylist Cheryl Horaney and take a few armfuls of designer dresses up to the suite for an informal fitting (aka, Fashion Show) with Christina, Jimin Kang and Stephanie Louden. Jan Butterfield, the LPGA's official skin care, hair and fashion consultant, is orchestrating the tangle of dresses, shoes and accessories.

With her brilliant personality and 20-pounds-lighter frame, Christina is a kid in a candy store and can only narrow down the myriad of choices to three. "I'll wear the others to the mailbox if I have to."

And she looks fantastic in her black, beaded gown, as did Stephanie Louden in her short, classic Vera Wang design. Jimin Kang bought an Armani for the occasion, but was swayed by our girlie "ooohs and aaahs" to switch to a black Versace dress that Cheryl had brought "just in case."

And here's where my blue eyes turn green, as I couldn't help but covet the opportunity to play dress up. I was starting to feel like Cinderella, pre-fairy-godmother. You know, all work and no play while the stepsisters (although those in my story are neither ugly nor evil) go to the ball.

Amidst the frenzy, Jan asked if I'd like to try on a dress "just for fun." Dear readers, if you ever find yourself in the same situation, just say no. Or, look at the price tag of said dress before stepping into the supple, designer fabric carefully tailored into intricate lines that compliment your frame immensely. I wanted to wear it to bed, to breakfast the next morning and on the plane home. Seriously.

This is coming from a girl who considers a purchase from the Banana Republic clearance rack a lavish treat (I'm not in sports PR for the money). So even with Cheryl's considerable insider discount, the perfect all-dressed-up-and-nowhere-to-go frock was out of my price range. Way out. In normal instances, that's not a bitter pill to swallow. But standing in a room full of Oscar after-party attendees preparing for the night of their lives, with shrieks of "you look awesome" cascading out the open door and into the hallway, I was jealous. There, I said it.
I briefly considered throwing down my MasterCard and rationalizing it as an "investment." But then my conscience stepped in (as well as my desire to actually eat for the next four months), and I went to bed. And I may or may not have shed a tear-both for my inability to fund my lavish appetite (champagne taste and a beer pocketbook, as my mom would say) and for the weakness of envy.