I should brush her- especially her back legs. She's like your favorite stuffed animal that looks normal to you, but a little ratty to everyone else. She'll be turning 13 this month. I'm looking forward to celebrating with her.
Yesterday I tried on about 40 bras at JC Penney. While in the fitting room, I listened to the poor, suffering mothers trying to deal with their asshole young daughters. It's back to school clothes shopping time, a time I'm sure we all remember unfondly, whether as mothers or daughters, or both.
What made this especially fun to listen to was 1) the daughters' lovely, flowing names used in a less than flowery context and 2) not having a daughter.
One mother was trying to not to be aggravated by the number of times her teenage daughter's cell phone buzzed.
Another mother was coaxing her much younger daughter to show her the clothes she was trying on.
"I can do it myself!"
"Ok, but I need to see them," her mother said.
"These are fine, these don't fit."
"Ok, but I still need to SEE them."
"Fine!"
Silence.
"CLOSE THE DOOR!"
"Nobody's looking, Madison. Try them on again."
Then, "Honey, those are too tight."
"No, they're not!"
"Yes, they are," said with a tone of exasperation, the tone that says they've been shopping for too long and need to stop before they strangle each other.
Now back into the second pair of pants.
"See, those fit fine! What's wrong with those?"
"They're too long."
"So you can fold them. You're a 10, not an 8."
"I don't like them folded," Madison mutters quietly.
Suddenly we all hear a baby crying, only it's not crying. It's angry- wailing, choking, sputtering, yelling. "Ok, ok, ok," calms mom as she quickly moves down the aisle to find an open fitting room. "Ok, ok." They are hushing, reassuring oks, but the baby only increases in volume. "OK," she says, like I'm working on it! The crying quiets slowly as the baby is fed, and Madison's sister, who has been crawling underneath all the fitting room partitions, pipes up. "Who's crying?" she asks.
"Would you get in here?" her mother demands.
Another mother comes in with another daughter. "Come over here with me, Ariana," she says.
"I SAID I'LL SIT HERE."
Then the lovely Ariana turned up the the volume to her earbuds and serenaded the fitting room.
I SAID WUH WUH WUH WUH
I SAID WUH WUH WUH
I looked in the mirror and exchanged a bemused glance with myself. I thought about shopping with Ant. He rejected a lot of what I picked out, especially as he got older, but I could also let him go find what he wanted. He was conscious of price, and was allowed to reject anything he hated, but had to show me the clothes he wanted to get. I doubt it's a boys vs girls thing- Mom says I had a little more distance than biological mothers have, so maybe that was it. I know that Ant learned quickly how to catch my attention with words like "sale" and "coupon." All I know is that I stood there looking in the mirror, asking myself to be grateful that I didn't end up with a little girl, because I'm pretty sure those girls were princesses compared to me.
I do have a daughter, but she is a lovely, fun little dog, who depends on me, is always happy to see me, and even at 13, is a delight to be around. Blessings counted and apologies given. Sorry, Ma. :D
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