I took Katie shopping with me last weekend. I had a gift certificate to Bloomingdale’s that was burning a hole in my pocket, so we went trolling for post-Christmas bargains. She was getting bored. Gee, I can’t imagine why. What could be more exciting for a seven year old than looking through endless racks of women’s clothing. No? not so much? Well, I did my best to make it fun by suggesting that she pick some things out for me to try on.
She came alive with her mission, darting from rack to rack in search of the perfect item. And the kid’s got style, let me tell you. She chose some beautiful things. She chose some kooky things (just try it, Mama – you can’t tell just by looking at it on the hanger) and she began to take a sense of ownership in the whole experience.
I picked up a cute, slightly funky dress/ top and held it up for closer inspection. My little stylist crinkled her little nose and dismissed it. “That won’t work on you, Mama. It has weird seams on the b**b part. Just put it back. You won’t like it”
Uh, scuse me, Little Miss Thang. You – seven, me – thirty-ei .. well, um – not seven. I’m going to try it on. Besides, someone very wise once said, “you can’t tell just by looking at it on the hanger.”
“Whatever,” she said. “But it’s not going to work for you.”
She turned on her heel and continue her hunt for designer treasure. I defiantly threw my new favorite dress/ top over my arm (cause, you know, I’m the mom and I’m so mature) and forged on.
We poked around for a little while longer and then headed into the dressing room for the moment of truth. I tried on a top she had chosen for me. She sat smugly by and said, “I told you that one would be cute.”
Whatever, I thought as I put it into the ‘probable’ pile.
I tried on MY dress/ top. I willed it to look good. (It didn’t.) The weird seams were, well, weird. I turned from side to side, searching for at least one decent angle from which to view this abomination. I wasn’t giving up. I sucked in my tummy. I stood on my toes.
“What do you think, Katie?”
“Ok, Mama. I have to be honest with you. It makes your b**bs look really big. And if we’re being honest, that’s the LAST thing you need.”
As I took it off and put it into the ‘not in a million years’ pile, my half pint stylist could barely suppress her smirk as she said, “I told you it wouldn’t work for you.”
Stacy? Clinton? If you decide to take some time off, may I recommend a stand-in?