We have a shopaholic friend whose sole interest in life are coitus (all hail Dr. Sheldon Cooper), opposite homo erectus, her lingerie omnibus, makeup&brush, being slutty with a correct amount of virgin blush and having her name among the fashionistas. Yeah she lives and breaths cloths. So few days ago our herd was grazing about in our favourite pastureland, a shopping mall, obviously, and one of us announced to the rest of the fashionistas that that aforementioned friend is pregnant, no she was not there. And look at the fate, that time we were just crossing Zara. I had this brainwave and uttered something the way someone in the Genesis did, “Let there be light” or maybe like a high priestess from the Delphi, “She should name her child ZARA”, everybody nodded, then one asked anxiously, “if its a boy, then?” I said like a calm cool Himalayan saint who was just happened to be in h&m cloths with chocolate sauce of her dunkin donuts dripping from her mouth corner, “Then she should name him ZARA MEN’S”!