You're going to a dance AKA why I'll never let my mother pick out my clothes

I sort of view this entry as a companion piece to the one I just published.


About two years ago, my mother, sister and I were in the mall. I was looking for a pair of shoes to go with a dress I'd planned on wearing to the annual "Sweet Valley Middle School Christmas Party" So, my mother picks up a pair of shoes. Flat, black and pointy patent leather with a bow on them. Something I'd never wear and she told them they'd be perfect for me. I took one look at them and tried not to laugh. My sister, who's never short on things to say took one look at them and said, "you're going to wear those? They look like something a fourth grader would wear." Then I got into the spirit and said, "Oh I can see it now, here I am almost 40 and I'd wear these shoes out and people would think I'm a mentally challenged 40 year old going to her first dance. You're going to a dance!!! People would crow. How nice for you!!" While I certainly have nothing against the mentally challenged and am all for them going to dances, I really did not want to be perceived as one based upon my footwear. My mother, of course, was highly offended and told us if we wanted her, she'd be over at Sears.

This is precisely why I would rather she not pick out my clothes for me. Her idea of a great outfit is something I like to call "Garanimals for Grown-ups" You know, that clothing women of a certain age wear where everything in the store matches everything else. There is nary a zipper or button in sight. There is, however, miles of elastic waist bands. Now, I have nothing against elastic, it just to me, feels like I've given up. If wwha I'm wearing to work is so comfortable that I can wear it to bed, there's a problem.

Last Christmas, she bought me a sweatshirt with an embroidered cartoon dog on it. A sweatshirt that says, "Life is better when shared with a dog." While I may wholeheartedly agree with that sentiment, wearing it out in public is another matter. I have since donated the sweatshirt to charity where I hope it goes to an animal lover that enjoys cartoon dogs.

So, in all of this, what did I learn? I learned that just because you love your mother that doesn't mean you need to share everything with her, that includes taste in clothing. Oh, and by the way, if you're looking for me, I'll be no where near Sears. That's what I learned today.

Happy Mother's Day, I love you mom.