Shopping with A Teenage Girl

Have you ever had one of those mornings when you wake up feeling good and rested?

I know. Doesn’t happen often.  But, every once in a while we get a morning where we feel so good we even skip the wrinkle cream.

Then we go birthday shopping with our teen (pre-teen, tween, whatever!). Going into Aeropostale (please substitute your kid’s choice of store) is like entering the fifth level of mom hell.

The store is full of “cute” little outfits with fabric so thin each garment is practically see-through.  The aisles are made for girls without hips and the sales associates are annoyingly perky.  When you’re not knocking something over with your backside, someone’s kid is rolling her eyes in your face.

Then there’s the mother/daughter tension.  It’s so thick it hangs in the air absorbing every last morsel of oxygen.  Your face crinkles as if on cue and you realize you shouldn’t have skipped the anti-aging potions.  Now you feel about five days away from getting a free copy of AARP and you look not a day older than seventy-five.

One of the little girls who works in our particular Aeropostale actually asked me if I wanted to try on the shirt I was holding for my daughter.

“No honey.  I think I’ll pass on the ‘Let’s Taco About It’ shirt for today.”

Not to mention it’s been cut in half, so if I actually stretched the thing over my head, it probably wouldn’t even cover my shoulders much less my belly button.

I am no longer of the age of the bare mid-drift.  That thing has been drifting all over the place.  It’s about time it drifted into Spanx and stayed there.

Then there are the other moms that stand outside the fitting rooms and argue with their daughters.  They yell through the door as a random pair of “hideous” jeans flies through the air and hits one mom square in the face.  Those are the moms that suck you into their arguments, as if you’re on their side by proxy.  Just because I’m standing two inches from you, doesn’t mean I agree with you; however, since we’re fighting this parenting battle together, I feel like I can at least recommend a good wrinkle cream and a different pair of jeans.

We stand there aging another year for every eye roll.

But, we buy the taco shirt and the fruitcake shirt too, and take solace in the fact that it wasn’t the dark and mysterious store with loud music and life-like mannequins.  Then we go home and bathe in wrinkle cream.

Taco That Kids!

My daughter turned thirteen today.  If I write a sappy post, I fear I will end up in a puddle of tears, so we’re skipping it this year.  I just can’t believe my baby is growing up so quickly!  I love these guys to pieces and already feel like I don’t have enough time left with them before they off to college.  Ok, the sap is about ooze, so I’ll just say Happy Birthday to my girl and log off.

I’ll go shopping with her any day of the week.