Vera Fugmiga and Vera Fug-or-Fabmiga

Vera confuses me sometimes. About 90 percent of the time she’s wearing black, and half of THAT, it’s kind of weird black, maybe even frumpy black. Like this:

She looks like a Helena Bonham Carter aficionado who never had the budget to complete her dream.

Or there’s this:

Now she just looks like a static cling accident, right down to the placemat cleaving to her cleavage.

So just when I thought I had her pegged, she went the opposite direction at a UNICEF event:

Maybe it’s just because this is so fresh and light after Prozac Closet up there, but I kind of like this. I maybe SHOULDN’T. But I do. She’s selling it to me, and I didn’t expect to buy it but suddenly I did, kind of like when I go to the grocery store and the Girl Scouts are out there and I’m pretty sure I don’t want any cookies, and then suddenly I’m in my car with three boxes of Samoas, some Tagalongs, and something that alleges to be made of lemon. But then sometimes I look at it and wonder why her legs needed a dust ruffle, and begin to fear that some rabid hoarder will try to lift her skirt and shove an underbed box up there.

Help: