Time for a Scary Story

There is one person on the planet who hates shopping for clothes more than me.

My daughter.

The trouble is, she's growing. She's already taller than me.

Uniforms have saved our relationship thus far but there will come a day when she needs an entire wardrobe and that will be trouble.

When we shop and granted, such times are rare, it is often at a catch all shop like Target or a department store like Macy's. Now I know her size and I know something of what would look good on her so I used to occasionally throw out a "That looks cute." to see if she was interested. This simple statement rendered whatever outfit had been singled out, unworthy to even merit a momentary glance.

In an attempt to get her to just look and try things on, I experimented with reverse psychology. I told her complimentary things about outfits I hated. Being an adolesent, she simply disagreed. She'd tell me why this outfit was stupid or that one was too short or too scratchy, there would be a litany of reasons but there was no way she'd even bother to try one on for size. Seeing as I hated the outfits myself, it was hard to argue with her logic.

Buying her outfits without her present meant I either put up with her not wearing it until she could hand it down for her sister, or she'd wear it but I'd know it caused deep psychological pain to be dressed thus.

But this past week, we had an occasion where she couldn't wear her school uniform or customary sporty look and as such, we HAD to go to the store. After handing her a few outfits and getting that aggrieved LOOK, I finally lay down the law. "You have to have something. You can't wear a basketball jersey for everything. These clothes are designed to look good on someone your age. They won't hurt you. It's not like I'm handing you a poisoned porcupine that will shoot quills and render you motionless from the toxins. Just try them on and say "Yes" or "No" and try on the ones you want."

"Poisoned porcupines?" She was smiling. A good sign. She took the clothing. A better sign. She came back to me with a stack of rejected and accepted.

We got a few outfits. Her clothing needs for the next few months had been abated. I was feeling pretty superior as a mother until she said those six little words that could strike true fear into my stout heart.

"Mom? I still need new shoes."