Somewhere behind a desk at the New York Times, someone watched the tape of a very long line of people standing in the cold to have a book signed by an insignificant author. He watched as an old lady shuffled forward with her books. The line is so long. The man at the Times picked up the phone, gave the order to print the story about the ruby slippers, and elected the next president of the United States of America.

Somewhere in New York, a design genius turned out her light and breathed the long sigh of one no longer burdened by a terrible secret, a secret that had helped ruin the reputation of an amazing woman, a woman she had really liked.

Somewhere in a consulting office, someone read the story in the Times and bit his lip. As long as it was only in her book, then it had been ok. It had been easy to say that she was lying again. It had been easy to say she was just trying to blame someone else. But now, now it’s in the Times. The Times! Were had he stored all those emails from the run up to the Convention?

Someone in Katie’s office started hunting for the interview tapes, started reviewing the tapes and the parts they edited, all the parts they edited. If people know that the “clothes story” was all a lie, they were going to start wondering about the rest.

Somewhere on a bus, a little girl is sitting on her mom’s lap having a better time than last year. Mom’s clothes smell like home.

Everywhere in America, people are reading that Sarah Palin didn’t run an Iditarod through Neiman Marcus, after all. Ms. Kline, the New York fashion consultant who outfitted the entire Palin family, has told the true story. Sarah wasn’t a diva who loaded her sled with high-end fashion while posing as an average PTA mom. There really was a brilliant magician who shook her head at the family when they arrived in their, “real-life everyday clothes,” and, after pulling the last pin out and tugging on the last loose thread, sent the altered Palins onto the stage of history.

Ms. Kline described the candidate herself as, “…a size 4 or 6 and very attractive, with beautiful skin, if a bit dowdy before the transformation. She was very, very sweet. I felt comfortable right away with her. She definitely had an opinion about the clothes, but it was a gentle opinion. If she didn’t like something, it was, ‘Oh, I don’t think so.’ ”

The Time’s article is a turning point in our country’s relationship with Sarah Palin. It proves that life really is all about the shoes. In this case, Sarah Palin’s shoes. “If the media got the shoes wrong, what else did they make up about her.”

Unemployment is at 10%. The First Lady’s tennis shoes cost $500.00. Sarah borrowed her shoes and gave them back. The First Lady asked the President of France to keep shops in Paris open on Sunday, even though it’s against the law, so she could go through the $200 sundresses for her daughters. Sarah still pulls smelly fish out of a small family business net every year so she can save money. The First Lady shut down the beltway to buy eggs at $5 a dozen at the D.C. Farmers’ Market. Sarah buys her baby’s diapers at Wal-Mart. The First Lady is seen sporting Fashion Week clothes to commiserate with women who can’t afford to take their children to the doctor. Sarah said, “I don’t like to shop.” One of these women is starting to look like a better model for an America staggering under twelve trillion dollars of debt.

Yesterday, somewhere at the Times, someone with an eye for style made the decision to run the first flattering piece about Sarah down a big media runway. Someone with a sense of self-preservation decided it was time to stop betting on the real clothes horse, and follow the little old lady and the strollers to meet the woman who didn’t really need the makeover.

Somewhere in Ms. Kline’s apartment, the light went on again and the designer grabbed for the notebook. You just never know…the Governor did say how much she hates to shop, and she had looked so perfect for the Convention. She just might remember. It’s cold in D.C. on Inauguration Day. Sarah should wear black…and, of course, the red shoes.