Okay, so I'm not exactly a fashion diva. I know, I know, you're laughing as you think, Duh, we already know that. The problem is, I guess I didn't know it. But my daughter, well, now, that's another story. She's the queen of fashion and she's only four. I mean when we went to Florida, she had to have a bikini. But when she put it on, she was devastated because it looked like she was wearing a bra. Now she can't wait to wear a bra, she was just really upset because she didn't have anything to put in the bra. So put a golf ball in each side. I proceeded to take the golf balls out, and then I told her she wasn't supposed to have anything to put in their yet, but that she still had to keep her girls covered because we're ladies. To which she giggled and ran around telling everyone it's okay that she doesn't have boobies like mommy, she still gets to swim in a bra.
She loves to pick out her own clothes and she always, always matches. Perfectly, in fact. So yesterday I'm wearing a sweatsuit, feeling like Manic did the time she wore all black. Only my daughter starts shaking her head and sighing.
Me: What's the matter?
Her: You're not really going to wear that, are you?
Me: Um, yeah. Why?
Her: Um, well. Because.
Me. Frown. (I can't believe I'm taking a 4-year-old's fashion advice seriously, but if you knew her, you'd get it. So I try again.) Because why?
Her: Well, because you look like a burnt hot dog.
Me: Really, now. Because that was just what I was going for.
Her: Why? (hey, she might be a fashion diva, but she's still four. Sarcasm is beyond her)
Me: (Sigh.) Never mind that. What do you think I should wear?
(She takes my hand and leads me upstairs to my room and leaves me standing in front of my mirror. I study my reflection while she's dissappeared into my closet. My black sweats and solid black pullover hang on me, hiding all curves. Oprah's right. Baggy clothes really do make you look 10 pounds heavier, and darnit, my duaghter's right. I really do look like a burnt hot dog. So she finally emerges with a pink T-shirt and zip up black hoodie. I put those form fitting shirts on and it looks sooooo much better.)
Her: There, now you look pretty.
Me: Thanks to you. (I kneel before her and hike up her pants.)
Her: (She gasps.) What are you trying to do, make me look like you?
Me: What do you mean?
Her: (She rolls her eyes) I don't pull my pants all the way up to my girls, mommy, and you shouldn't either.
Me: (gasp) I do not.
Her: Well, Aunt Sally does. (then she runs away, the conversation already forgotten)
(sorry Aunt Sally, I have no idea what she's talking about.) But when I stood up, my sweats (which I already said were quite baggy) were hiked up practically to my girls. Darnit!!! So I rolled them down like my 17 year old neice does and just came to accept the fact that....
I am just not a fashion diva.