Back to school shopping. Ah, the wonderful time of year when my daughter goes into a frenzy when walking into Justice like a shark swimming into chum. And, naturally, any outfit I suggest is immediately deemed stupid, and sent back to the racks. Once a year it’s like shopping with what I imagine it must be like to deal with Bridezillas. Cause you know, seven year olds are hot on the social scene, and every outfit sends a message. And God forbid one of those messages is, “My loving mother may have suggested this outfit.”
We went around the store, me picking out practical outfits that may actually take her THROUGH the school year, and her frantically pointing out spaghetti strapped dresses (which are very practical for January in New England) and rope-topped sandals.
“If you insist on me buying those sandals, I’m going to insist you walk to school in the snow this winter. Up hill. Both ways.”
“Mo-om,” she sighed. Which is seven year old for, “You’re a moron, mother of mine.”
I’m happy to report that she deemed the rope-topped sandals impractical. On her own. With only a slight shove from me.
We did end up with three new outfits, a pair of new sneakers, and a dress. And one, furry vest. That she assured me goes with everything. Including an eighty degree day.
As soon as we hit the car, she pulled out the vest, shed the tags, and donned the vest. “How do I look?” she asked demurely.
“Fabulous, Zsa Zsa.”
It was when we were stuck in traffic on the way home that I heard, “It’s hot. Can we get the car moving so we can get a breeze through the window?”
“Funny thing about fur in the summer,” I replied.
So far the vest has only come off to eat dinner so she wouldn’t mar it with her inability to get food into the gaping hole in her face.
We have one week left to school, and for nine solid months, her personality will be the problem of the second grade teachers.