"Of course." The comment was followed by a conspiratorial wink. She may not have known Cathy that well but she knew the uncertainty well enough. It was a little awkward on first meeting after talking to someone on the boards. The pictures were small and sometimes people looked completely different in person than expected.
She leaned in as Cathy dropped her voice, then shook her head. "Slutty would be several inches higher," she replied at the same volume. Vi pointed at the hem. "That is a daring kind of classy, I think. I'm not a fashion expert." So much so that whenever the fashion craze hit NYC, she traded patrol routes to avoid the madness. "But slutty? Definitely not."
Vi shook her hand. "It's good to see you again too. We're both still ourselves, which is good." So it still wasn't something to laugh about but a little dry sarcasm directed at the responsible ones never hurt. Most of the time. She glanced down at her outfit, holding out her arms. "Thank you. It's so hard to decide for yourself." She wrinkled her nose. "You are your own worst critic. Except the narcassists. They're their own entourage."
That opinion had saved her from standing in front of the mirror for another ten minutes, weighing the pros and cons of the jeans.