Becky is not my daughter. She is a girl, for one. I was never a girly-girl; I was a tomboy of immense proportions. (Not literally, mind you.) So to have a girl in my care is sometimes baffling to me. After 13 years, I'm coming to just accept it for the way things are. I've allowed nail polish, make-up and perfume. I take her clothes shopping and buy hair products for her. I schlep her to friends' houses, and dances, and football games and weekend events. She's quite the social butterfly, and that, too, is baffling to me.
While she's been to a dance or two already, those were not dressy occasions. I have never been to a dance in my life (and I am not even kidding) so I wasn't aware that one could attend a school dance in jeans and still be accepted in the sight of your peers the next day. Live and learn.
But the Fall Formal is looming near and she needs a gown. Her and the friends had a plan: they were going to all go gown shopping together because how fun would that be?!
I had a different plan: take her myself because I'm not altogether sure that I trust her judgement in gowns, nor her discretion with my money. But I did not want to be the heavy parent in the group so I said nothing. I figured once plans start taking shape then I may offer to be the parent that takes them. (Shoot. Me. Now.) Thankfully the other moms all had the same idea that I did and they put the kibosh on the plan, actually verbalizing what I was thinking. They wanted to be there to choose a gown, and to monitor the money. Turns out the other parents were the heavies and I got to be the cool one who didn't have to tell my daughter that I didn't completely trust her judgement. Sa-weet.
So we went gown shopping. I have to say that it was an enjoyable experience and not a dreaded ordeal like I thought it might be. (Maybe there's hope for me yet.) She found a green number that was modest and flattering. And absolutely beautiful. But it was a bit pricier than I wanted to pay. I am, after all, Cheapest Person on Planet Earth.
So we pushed on. In my quest for cheap, I perused every sale rack in every store's fancy-schmancy dresses section. The mother of the bride dresses were not overlooked. Oh yeh, I went there. Weirdly those do not come in size 2's. Go figure.
We found another that was flattering, in a very classy black and white. And? It was half price. And? The original price was less than the green number that we found. As we were checking out with it, she was contemplating what jewelry she should wear with it.
(You hear that, Grandma? You'll have to get together with her and fix her up with some snappy silver and black ensembles.)
And shoes. She said she'd need to buy shoes, too. I did a quick mental rundown of the shoes in my closet. We wear the same size and although I do not allow sharing of shoes (they're mine!) I figured I'd be generous for the occasion.
And then it hit me. I am a frumpy mom. I do not own anything with a heel. And I mean nothing. And the worst part? I like it that way.
We'll be going shoe shopping soon. Maybe Becky will let me borrow hers sometime.