It's been nearly a year since my last shopping adventure with one of my daughters. If you've been reading my blog for a while, you might remember that it was the day that ended with me pleading with a Gap salesgirl to stab me in my jugular vein with a broken hanger to put me out of my misery. (Full story here.)
Well, I thought I had finally recovered enough from the emotional trauma to take my other daughter shopping. She had received a gift card for Christmas, and she was afraid it was going to go Mission Impossible on her. "This card will self-destruct in 15 seconds. Good luck. Oh, and ballerina flats are in for spring."
After I had readied myself by drinking 8 cups of coffee, we set off for the store. Unfortunately, Sasquatch had decided he needed to go along. Right then, I knew we were headed for disaster, because taking a 12-year-old boy on a shopping trip for clothes is about as much fun as setting your hair on fire.
Once at the store, my daughter spent 30 minutes dragging me through the racks of clothes, asking my opinion about various pieces and then disagreeing with my choices. Eventually, she headed into the dressing room and I joined her with a few, uh, foundation garments for myself. Sasquatch waited on a bench at the dressing room entrance, trying to recover from the experience of watching his mother pick out bras by dreaming of which kind of candy bar he was going to nag me into buying for him.
It wasn't long until I heard Daughter say, from somewhere in a far corner of the dressing room, "Mom, would you look at this shirt and tell me how it looks on me?"
I did what any good mother would do. I called out over the top of my cubicle door, "I CAN'T COME OUT. I'M NAKED."
There was a nanosecond of utter silence, then I heard Daughter whisper loudly, "MOM! People are going to hear you!" Apparently, people did hear me, because I heard snickers from other cubicles. When I emerged, Sasquatch gave me such a look of horror that I knew that lots of other people had heard me, not just those in the confines of the dressing room area.
I spied Daughter back among the racks, but this time she was asking for fashion advice from a six-year-old girl and her Barbie doll. And Sasquatch was so anxious to get out of the store, he forgot to load up the cart with his usual "needs," namely, two liters of Monster energy drink, a party platter of petite cheesecakes, and some SpongeBob boxer shorts.
I daresay I won't have to take one of my kids shopping for at least another year.