Dear Person With A Suspiciously Jewish-Sounding Surname:

Please give America's Best Christian some credit! When it comes to alliances with top designers, I am savvy enough not to put all my legs in one hell-bound basket, dear. While I can understand you assuming otherwise, given its utterly sublime appearance, Prada is not designed by a homosexual. (I'll give you a moment to collect yourself after this startling discovery.) It is the creation of a married woman -- my dear friend Miuccia. The fact that she is presently a Mary-Worshipping, incense-sniffing, papal-genuflecting, idolatrous Catholic, and thus ineligible for God's Glory, does trouble me, but I am packing enough of her handiwork to keep me in seraphim-sewed knock-offs for epochs, dear. Naturally, this is not my preference and I am trying to convert her to the one true faith (Southern Baptist). But, honestly, if my revelation of the Lord's sadistic plan to dress her for eternity in Tommy Hilfigger doesn't get her on her knees before the old rugged cross, nothing will!

At any rate, I am sanguine in the knowledge that things always work out according to God's and my plan -- which is why Liza Minnelli will be reunited with Halston in Hell so that we in Glory will be spared the ghastly sight of her frame (talk about an expanding universe!) squeezed to beyond the tensile strength of Quiana.

So close to Jesus, all my baked-goods transubstantiate,