I am beginning to think Rita Wilson has decided to live life at a volume of eleven — no, twelve. And the thing is, I can’t complain about that, because if she hadn’t then I would not even know that a satin dress decorated with what appear to be images from Huck Finn even EXISTED, much less that a lady could pair it with a feather purse, a fur, and a Cleopatra choker. This is useful information — say, if I ever decide to grab my pal Joan Collins and take her to a singles mixer with The Mark Twain Fan-Fiction Society. You don’t know. It could happen.