One of my favorite movies of all time is The Devil Wears Prada. The style. The attitude. Meryl. Enough said. But now? I have my own version. Let me explain.

I love thrift shopping. And when I visit my daughter in Dallas, we make a tradition of hitting estate sales. We get up before the sun, grab our coffees, and line up at the best addresses with the early-bird pros — ready to uncover buried treasure.

Recently, we hit the sale. I mean racks of designer clothes, exquisite antiques, and shoes — beautiful, expensive shoes — in our size.

Tucked on a shelf like they’d been waiting for me was a pair of cream-colored Prada Sport golf shoes. They were marked at just $90, barely worn, and in my size. It felt like the universe was finally acknowledging my commitment to both secondhand fashion and questionable bunker shots.

The first time I wore my new, old Pradas was on a golf trip to Phoenix. And of course — because this is my life — I ended up in a dreaded, sandy, miserable bunker. Or as I like to call them “Those giant outdoor cat boxes I keep accidentally playing fetch in.” My ball was sitting dead-center in wet sand, and I stomped over in full Fairway Rebel mode, annoyed but determined. Then I looked behind me and that’s when I lost it.

Every footprint I’d left behind was perfectly stamped in the sand:

PRADA. PRADA. PRADA.

Like toddler light-up shoes — but designer, grown-up, and absolutely fabulous, the deep treads on the bottom of the shoes literally spelled out the brand name with every step. It was dramatic and over-the-top! It was the best thing to ever happen in a bunker.

And the only thing that could make that moment better was that I nailed my shot with a high, soft flop out of the trap and a gorgeous finish on the hole.

Luxury, laughter, and a little redemption in the sand.

That’s the Fairway Rebel way.