We do not care if that nice Ann Romney’s shirt cost $990. The lady is a billionaire or something, she can buy silken togs. (This, like the “private chef service” that so enraged the National Review when working mom Moochelle Obama dared avail herself of it, falls into the category of “aspirational wealth” that most working women would like, and mostly see no problem with!) No, here is what concerns us regarding that nice Ann Romney’s sartorial choice: it also came with matching pants.
So if that screaming eagle up top is about to tear into that nice Ann Romney’s poor defenseless right nipple, well, where exactly would the screaming eagle on her crotch be headed? These are the things that keep us up at night, worrying and fretting and pure-cold-sweating: that that nice Ann Romney might be attacked in her nethers by carnivorous birds with beaks and talons sharp, just so she can walk around looking like a human version of Stephen Colbert’s studio. Oh, and also that she’s got shitty taste, because gross. [Politico]