We proud Pittsburghers -- whether by birth or by transplant -- love to stir up our hometown pride by reviewing the region's long list of inventions and world "firsts."

To name but a few from an impressive list: the polio vaccine, the pull-tab can, the commercial radio station, the Ferris wheel, the emoticon :-) and, perhaps most important, bingo.

But perhaps nothing stirs up our pioneering, can-do spirit like the words "first (fill in the blank) west of the Allegheny Mountains." Doesn't that make you feel all Lewis and Clark? Doesn't that phrase fairly sing of possibilities more exciting and more ennobling than just how to type a smiley face on a keyboard?

It harkens back (nothing ever harkens in any other direction) to the days when crossing a mountain range took way more effort than scrounging up change for a turnpike toll.

Sure, "first (blank) west of the Alleghenies" means it's not another world first for us. The phrase implies that whatever we're getting is already well established back East, back where they have civilization.

But it also implies that whatever we're getting will mean much more to us than it does to those softies east of the Alleghenies who never left home or risked their lives crossing the wilderness to get here.

Of course, some of our ancestors made it past the Alleghenies, camped overnight where the Mighty Three Rivers meet, and said, "This is far enough for me."

Their next words, if it was any month but July, were probably, "Brrrr -- I sure could use a nice polar fleece jacket." Thus, L.L. Bean.

Did any of you get at least a tiny thrill two weeks ago today when the Post-Gazette (the first newspaper west of the Alleghenies) announced the arrival of the first L.L. Bean west of said mountains? The article said it will join two other well-known retailers, Nordstroms and Tiffany Co. jewelers, who will open in the fall at Ross Park Mall.

If so -- if indeed you uttered a loud "Honey, lookie here!" -- well, maybe you're already wearing a nice polar fleece jacket from L.L. Bean and it's you we have to thank for this latest pioneering landmark.

Why else would the venerable Maine retailer with a thriving mail-order business make its tortuous way over the Alleghenies to set up shop here? It must have had considerable evidence, i.e. mounds of shipping labels with local ZIP codes, proving the people of this wilderness region really like its stuff.

It was you, or it was my husband.

I mentioned this possibility to him as soon as I called, "Honey, lookie here!" and he read the article over my shoulder. He looked thoughtful.

A couple of days later I asked him to show me which items in his closet bear the L.L. Bean label. He looked worried. "You're not going to make fun of me, are you?"

Of course not, sweetheart. I'm merely angling to take credit for this latest landmark "west of the Alleghenies." Since columnists usually just sit back and evaluate (or excoriate) other people's actions, it's not often that we have a personal achievement of any kind to take credit for. And achieving something by dint of marriage to a brand-loyal shopper is probably as close as I'll ever get.

"We" have chamois shirts, Black Watch plaid flannel shirts, corduroy pants, jeans, many T-shirts, the "Adventure Duffle" and matching toiletry bag in neon yellow, all from L.L. Bean. All that is on the male side of the closet. I like their tote bags.

And I'm going to need a tote bag at the Ross Park Mall when Nordstrom opens its doors and I join the crowds of women kneeling in awe before the man-made marvel that is its shoe department.

I know from my travels, however, that not every Nordstrom shoe department is created equal. The one in Orlando has no shoes, other than sneakers, that cover the toes -- something that will not fly up here near the Alleghenies. The one in Columbus, Ohio, is a better harbinger of what's to come, but it all depends on the buyer -- and on whether Nordstrom marketing geniuses have traced my purchases to my location near Ross Park.

I really hope I didn't ruin things for the rest of you, stylewise. On my last pilgrimage to Columbus, I purchased sensible walking shoes: low-heeled lace-ups made of tweed fabric with patent leather toe-caps.

"I've been looking for shoes like this for eight years," I told the clerk. He looked at all the Manolo Blahniks and then looked back at me like that was the saddest thing he'd heard all week.

Maybe he checked my credit card information and thought, "Ah, a Pittsburgher -- hardy pioneer women need sturdy shoes."

But the new Tiffany's? Do hardy pioneer women need sturdy diamonds? I'm hoping our husbands think we do.