The other night, I had a case of crankypantsitis. Students of science and medicine know there is one prescription: cookie dough, Diet Coke and DVDs.

My guy and I hit Blockbuster, then a very nice Publix. Once inside, I trembled in fear. On the quick grocery trip, I witnessed people wearing the following items of, er, apparel:

• Four pairs pajama pants
• Three "muscle" shirts (six male armpits)
• One halter dress, exposing dingy, frayed bra on verge of snapping to liberty
• Too many dirty flip-flops to comprehend
• One tube top, and therewith, zero bras
• One T-shirt reading, I crap you not, "Boone's Farm Babe"
• One pair mesh basketball shorts paired with braided leather businessman loafers, as if to say, "Was too busy watching "West Wing" to find proper pants, but dang, I really needed this Moose Tracks ice cream like WHOA."
• A SCRUNCHIE
• A PARTIAL NIPPLE

Yes, a nipple. On the way out, we glimpsed a teenager wearing a top too low-cut for a foam party in Ibiza. I turned to my shell-shocked boyfriend, who had simply meant to do a good deed involving Nestle:

Me: "Um. Was that nipple?"
Him: *long silence*  "Yes, actually, I believe that was nipple."

When did the supermarket stop being a public place? Why does the pursuit of Pizza Rolls make reasonable folks dress like escapees from the Wacko Jacko Institute of Boudoir Wear?

I know we're tired. We work hard and pay taxes. We dash out last minute, because, WHO ATE ALL THE TOASTER STRUDEL? I'm not suggesting evening gowns for the store, or even lipstick. But level with me - people still SEE you. It's not a racquet club steam room. For the love of all things holy, we're dealing with open-air food here! THINK OF THE TOMATOES.

I implore you, fair nation. Take back clothes at the supermarket! A vote for pants is a vote for change!

(Paid for by the National Coalition to Keep Pajamas in Bedrooms, Inc.)

~ Deal Diva Stephanie

Photos: Times files